Page 33 of Wicked Ways

He was warm beneath her touch. And so strong. She wondered what he would taste like.

His hands were on her breasts now. Stroking her through her shirt and bra. Caresses that became harder in time with the movements of her hands. A growing demand to match her own.

A phone rang in the distance. Voices, muted, drifted to her ears. She didn’t care.

He jerked up her shirt. Shoved her bra out of the way, and those nimble fingers of his curled over her nipples. Squeezed.

Miranda bit back a moan as her hands tightened around him. She wanted him inside of her.

A growl built in his throat. Her gaze snapped to his, and she found his burning stare flickering between a man’s lust and an animal’s wild need. Then he stepped back, breaking the heated contact between them, and she could have yelled in frustration.

“My way.” The words seemed barely those of a man.

His hands were on her wrists as he yanked her forward so that Miranda tumbled off the edge of the desk. Her feet hit the floor a little too hard, and she stumbled. But then he was holding her tight. Shifting her body, spinning her around so that she faced the scarred desk and⁠—

“Brace your hands.” A rough order.

He was right behind her. Her body slid forward. She put her hands out automatically, palms slapping flat against the wooden surface of the desk. “Cain, what are⁠—”

Her skirt was lifted. No, shoved up. Cool air skated over her skin. Then his fingers were between her legs. Stroking her through the damp crotch of her panties. Possessive, sensual strokes that made Miranda bite her lip and rise up on her tiptoes.

Good, but not good enough.

“Cain.” A demand this time. His way, her way, she didn’t care. She just wanted him.

His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties. One long finger pushed inside her, knuckle-deep. Her hips arched, and she thrust back against him, needing so much more than that touch.

She needed deeper.

She needed more.

Miranda tossed back her head. “I need you.”

With his left hand, he jerked the collar of her shirt to the side, baring her flesh. His mouth locked around her shoulder. The edge of his teeth pressed against her in a sensual bite that had her gasping.

His finger retreated. Thrust. Retreated. Then he was curling his hand over her panties and yanking them down.

The panties landed on her black sandals. She kicked off her strapless shoes—and the panties fluttered across the floor.

His mouth pressed tightly to the curve of her shoulder. A warm swipe of his tongue. A kiss. His hands spread her thighs ever wider, and he pushed her farther over the top of the desk.

She heard him rip something open—knew it had to be a condom packet. A few moments later, the wide head of his cock pushed against the eager opening of her sex. A controlled thrust.

Not what she wanted.

And Miranda was sure that really wasn’t “his way.” She rolled her hips, rocked back, and took him in as deep as she could.

His hands slammed down next to hers. His claws were out, and they dug into the wood of the desk.

And he began to thrust.

Not so controlled.

Deeper. Deeper. Harder.

Miranda closed her eyes and tried to hang on for the ride.

The desk inched forward with his thrusts. Wood scraped. He was pistoning behind her, driving so fully into her that she felt totally possessed.