He tamped down his mirth. He’d laugh later. “I forgot you weren’t used to animals. My bad.”
She ground her teeth so loud, she gave him some competition. His shirt crumpled tighter under her grip. “Your bad? You know what, Caleb Pierce? I think you found this whole thing amusing. I think you’ve been silently laughing at me this whole time under the guise of trying to help. I think you did this on purpose!”
His gaze narrowed. “Now, why the hell would I do that?” he growled. “Think that’s a smart way to get you in my bed, or do you really think I’m an idiot?”
She panted hard, and he leaned in. Their breath mingled, and he caught the scent of clean peppermint, the tightening of her nipples against the thin fabric, the way her pupils dilated when she was turned on. And yeah, she was turned on, and this time he didn’t have the strength to back off and make proper conversation or polite excuses.
Game on.
“You are an idiot if you think by heaven or hell you’d get me into bed. Look at us! We’re totally different. We’d kill each other.”
“Nah, we’d be too busy fucking each other.”
Her sharp intake of breath was sexy as hell. He’d pushed, but so had she, and it was time to sample what he’d been fantasizing about for a while. Her lower lip trembled, and she practically hissed with catlike spite, but Caleb sensed the arousal underneath and her desperate need to not think anymore. The pink flush of her skin, her hard nipples, the trembling of her hands, the musky scent between her thighs. Had she ever had a man just take what he wanted from her? Or was she so used to proper, she’d forgotten how much fun it was to be uncivilized?
“You—you—you’re so crude!”
He laughed low and tangled his fingers in her hair. Twisting firmly, he held her head and tugged back. “That the best you got?” he asked. He pressed a kiss to her temple, teasing, then one to her cheek. Her skin burned, telling him she liked it.
“You—you—you’re a Neanderthal!”
He nipped the sensitive curve of her neck, tugged on her earlobe. The whole time she shook underneath him, not pushing him away, telling him she needed this dominance for a moment to get out of her head. “Not much better. We’ve both been thinking about this for a long time, sweetheart, ever since we kissed. I know you had a bad night, but I can make it better.”
She sucked in her breath, and a moan caught in her throat as he pressed light, teasing kisses over her cheek. “That’s a terrible line. Awful. I deserve better.”
God, he loved that prim and proper tone. Having her say dirty things to him in that voice was his secret fantasy. But the time for fun and games was over, because he had to taste her again. Now.
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you.”
She stilled under his hands. Tension crackled in the air. He waited a beat.
“I lied.”
With one firm pull, he drew her head back and crushed his lips to hers.
Cal never had a chance. She engulfed him with her scent and touch and flavor, and he surrendered to the experience without a fight. Opening her lips without hesitation, she took each thrust of his tongue with heat and passion and gave it all back. Being devoured like he was every fantasy she had, his head spun at her honest, raw reaction to his kiss. Her arms wrapped tight around his back, holding him to her; he made a primitive moan and released her head to grip her hips, pulling her hard against his erection.
She went crazy under him, rocking her hips, digging her nails into his upper shoulders, and kissing him back with a seething hunger he’d never experienced, as if she were drowning and he was the one to save her, making him feel like the fucking hero of every comic book out there.
God, he wanted more.
Swallowing her whimpers, he slid one hand under her T-shirt and hit bare skin. Thanking heaven above for the gift, he stroked her breast, tweaking a hard nipple with his thumb, cupping the glorious weight in his palm. Like he was plugged into a generator, she lit up under his touch, arching beneath every stroke until he pushed her down to the floor to lie flat, with every intention of ripping off her shirt, tugging down her panties, and taking her right here, right now, until neither of them remembered their names.
“Ah, shit! Sorry!”
The familiar male voice rang out, but it took a while for Cal to process. He was too deep in the moment, with a head stuffed with cotton and a raging erection from the woman beneath him. Nothing mattered except his readiness to dive deep and forget about anything else but claiming her for his.
But Morgan stiffened beneath him, going so still, he wondered if she’d become a statue. And then it hit him.
Son of a bitch. Tristan was home.
Slowly, he tugged down her shirt, removed his hand, and shifted so he covered most of the view. “It’s past midnight. Why are you here?”
Tristan slapped his hand over his eyes and backed away from the counter. “I’m not here. Go back to what you were doing, I didn’t see a thing. Hi, Morgan.”
Her voice came out strangled. “Hi, Tristan.”
“I came for my wine. Umm, is there leftover peach pie?”
Cal let out an irritated breath. “I ate it.”
“Dude, I only had a piece.”
“Dalton ate most of it. There’s a bag of Ruffles in the pantry. Take that instead, then go.”
His brother ducked his head to grab the bag of chips, keeping his eyes covered the whole time. This was ridiculous. The mood was completely broken, and he was screwed in an entirely new way. The bad way. Not the good way.
“Is there dip?”