(Remember, this story started on May 12th, if you're new or would like to review. I'll make an honest attempt to post the next part of the story in less time than it took for this installment - vacation and all you know.)

 

Marc didn’t move as Delila continued stretching for her run. So far, his favorite warm-up was the first one where she bent over and stuck her ass in the air. Of course, the second one wasn’t hard to watch either. She reached over her shoulder and behind her back with one arm while pushing down on her elbow with her opposite hand. He wasn’t sure what the point was other than to push her breasts out nicely—which it did—very nicely. He’d always been a breast man and as far as he could tell, underneath that sports bra, Delila’s were damn near perfect. Round and high and each one looking to be a solid handful.

He shifted to get comfortable as his erection pressed more insistently against the back of his zipper.

“So what do you think?” Delila stood facing him with a foot propped straight-legged on the railing. She bent at the waist as she asked the question, reached for and held the bottom of her shoe. Besides showcasing her tanned legs, the ease with which she had moved into that position emphasized how limber her body was, sending his present fantasies into extra innings.

When he didn’t respond, she lifted her head to look up at him. After being granted that amazing view of her cleavage, the only thought in his head was having her naked and wrapped around him. He was pretty sure that’s not what she was asking his opinion on—but goddamn if he could recall what they’d actually been talking about.

He blinked and moved his gaze from her breasts to her eyes. Shrugging, he tried to play it off. “Depends. What do you think?”

Her green eyes sparkled with laughter and she said, “I think I just told you what I think and you were too busy staring at my chest to hear a single word I said.”

“Not true.”

She raised her eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief.

“It’s not,” he contended, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans when they started to itch with the need to touch her.

“Right,” she said.

“I was too busy staring at your ass to hear what you were saying. By the time I got around to your chest, I didn’t even realize we were still having a conversation.”

She rolled her eyes and switched legs. “Typical man.”

Typical he was anything but. Man—well, he could meet her at least halfway there.

“Well,” she said as she hopped down the stairs to stand beside him, “at least you’re an honest lecher.”

His head snapped up in irritation. “I’m not a lecher.”

“Oh really?” Her voice had lowered to a suggestive purr and there was a look in her eyes that he didn’t trust but damn well liked.

She leaned closer, until her breasts nearly brushed his chest and he forgot the point he was about to make. If he took a deep breath, he’d be able to—

“You’re staring at my breasts again.” The way she said it, slow and sensual and taking full advantage of her honeyed Texas drawl to infuse every word with sex, made it less a reprimand than an invitation. “And I bet you’re imagining them without my top to get in your way."

Marc blinked at the sudden change in tone she'd taken. But he wasn't fool enough to stop or interrupt her, no matter how much she'd surprised him.

The tip of her tongue traced the corner of her mouth as if she were thinking hard about what she was going to say next. "I suppose you'd also be thinking about how they’d feel weighted in your hands, or sliding over your stomach.”

Afraid to break whatever spell she was under, he didn't move as the sweet torture she was inflicting on him paused for a moment when she took a breath. A deep one. One that doubled the torment as her breasts just barely grazed his chest.

He felt the groan working its way out of his throat in time to catch it. She was purposefully torturing him and he wasn’t about to stop her. Or let her have the satisfaction of knowing how hard she was getting to him. Shit. He was going to have to look up the word lecher. Apparently, he might have been wrong.

She started walking her fingers up his ribs and fire blazed under his skin. “I even bet you’ve been wondering if I have a tan line. Maybe even what color my nipples are. How they would tighten against your palms if you rubbed them just the right way.”

If he hadn’t been, he sure as hell was now. The animal side of his nature shook itself and roused with its appetite whetted for mating. The immediate desire for a woman had never been so strong and roared against reason in his head.

Delila looked up at him from under her lowered eyelashes and licked her lips. He wanted that mouth. Now. A tremor went through him at the fierceness of the inner struggle to keep himself under control.

“I bet,” she murmured as she flattened her hands over his chest and slid them up towards his neck, “you’ve even thought about how they would taste—”

Marc’s arms closed around her, bringing her firm curves flush against his body. She gasped in surprise, but his mouth clamped down hard over hers, cutting off any coming words. Thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth, he kissed her with all the wildness she’d set loose inside of him. He wouldn’t let her not respond. Delving and sucking, gently biting then followed by healing brushes of his tongue, Marc felt Delila’s passion rise to meet his own as he bent her back and molded her body to his own.

The kiss continued for long moments as he learned her taste, her smell, her feel. What she liked, what she responded to with her moans, her mouth, her entire body. His hands caressed her back and shoulders, and then one slipped down past her waist to cup her ass. His fingertips teased the hem of her shorts and slid between her legs to feel the heat there. Her soft cry of need filled his mouth and he pressed her more firmly against his erection and rocked into her.

Her fingernails scored the back of his neck and she nipped his lower lip hard enough that he tasted a drop of his own blood. In his soul, something dark and unknown convulsed and surged to life. Even as he took her mouth in another savagely consuming kiss, he knew this was no longer a kiss. This was a claiming.

 

Time to vote: Who pulls out of the kiss first?

Hope you're enjoying the story so far...

Eve