He didn't touch her, didn't stop her, didn't do anything more than stand there and watch her with that expression of cautious warning and heat. Fire. It blazed in his eyes so hot and intense it was a wonder she didn't go up in flames.
He was testing her. Or at least she thought he was. So she pushed it a little farther, playing a new game of let's see what you will do when I do this. She moved a half a step closer, until the front of the satin robe brushed against his bare chest. He'd found a pair of jeans to cover his boxers, but he hadn't bothered with a shirt. She wondered only half in jest if that was because he'd truly given Timmy his last clean one or if he simply wanted to tease her by strutting around shirtless with all of those hard muscles and mouthwatering ridges in full, unobstructed view.
She took a deep breath, albeit a shaky one and pushed the envelope even more. Her hand flattened on his chest, and she leaned in, traced the outline of his collarbone with her tongue. God but he tasted as good as he smelled, all musky and male with a faint hint of the natural scent left behind by the rain. She wanted to taste more of him, to lick her way across and down his amazing chest and washboard abs. She wanted to continue to explore him with her tongue, dipping it down beneath the waistband of his jeans until she found the one part of him she was truly dying to taste.
But she didn't. She pulled back instead, allowing herself only that one leisurely sample before she cut off all urges for more with a sharpness that grated at her senses and made her want to scream. When she looked up, she found he'd tilted his head back, rested it on the window glass and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for more heartbeats than she could count before he finally lifted his head.
She let her hand glide over the heated flesh of his chest. His hard body felt so unbelievably good under her palm that she nearly groaned. She did make a soft sound that wasn't quite a squeak but more than a gasp of surprise when he pinned her hand to his body beneath one of his.
"Don't play with me, Tina." His tone was husky, almost gruff, but full of an authoritative ring that danced down her spine and made spasms of excitement clinch at her insides. His eyes had gone almost impossibly dark, darker even than they had been when he'd kissed her at Dean's. Was that anger or desire that turned them such a deep shade of brown, like a dark chocolate candy bar? She couldn't be sure because she sensed both in the tautness of his body beneath her palm, in the quickening of his breath.
Tina glanced down at the hand he held, looked at where he'd stopped it midway on his abs. A long moment passed before she realized his words weren't in reference to that hand which had been on a definite track south to his cock. But no. That wasn't what he meant, and his next gruff words confirmed it.
"I don't like games, and right now you're playing with fire, babe."
"And I'm bound to get burned." He hadn't left the sentence dangling, but she finished it for him anyway. "Isn't that how it goes, Ryan? I have to confess I'm disappointed. I would have thought even a big, bad firefighter such as yourself could come up with a better line than that. Besides, you're wrong. If anyone is playing here, it's you playing with me."
"Not yet, but if you don't back off, sweetheart, I'm about to."
And weren't those words to instantly make her panties wet? Tina's gaze danced across his features that seemed to be currently set on a permanent default of grim warning and lustful danger. No. She definitely wasn't playing any games here. She licked her lips and met his gaze dead on. "Promises. Promises."
His hand tightened on hers, gripped it, and pulled it away from his abs, but he didn't drop it, didn't push her away. Instead, he held her hand in his at her side, his other hand reaching under her hair to cup the back of her neck.
"You're starting something that won't be finished until this storm is over. You know that, don't you?"
She expected him to kiss her. His hand on her neck, the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth. It was coming. She was almost sure of it. So why didn't he? Perhaps because he was waiting for her to answer? She knew he'd asked a question, but his touch, the intensity she saw in his eyes, the devilish roughness she heard in his voice made it hard for her to think, to comprehend.
"As long as that storm is out there you're stuck, Tina. There's no running from it. Start it now and it won't end until the hurricane does."
Ah, now she understood. Still, he thought....
"I know exactly what I'm doing," she assured him and felt only a slight flutter of wonder deep in the pit of her stomach. She did. Didn't she?
His hand rolled on her neck, turning up to bury his fingers in her hair, to fist itself in the long strands. He tugged, a quick and forceful pull that brought her head back and drew a surprised gasp from her throat. It didn't hurt. If anything it aroused, sending slivers of stimulation to dance through her body clear down to her toes. Then his mouth was on hers. He crushed her lips with his, taking with no finesse or tenderness, and she realized she'd pushed him to this. She asked for it, tormenting him and teasing him until he finally gave.
And God, did he give? He possessed her mouth, licking his way inside, withdrawing only to bite at her lip before licking it to sooth and move inside again. She tried to put her free hand between them to touch him, but he grabbed that hand too. Then he turned them both so fast she felt as though she'd suddenly boarded the Gravatron at the town carnival and pushed her against the wall beside the window. His body pinned her there, but it felt different from the last time he'd held her this way. He left no room between their bodies for so much as a breath of air to squeeze through let alone either of their hands, and when he let go of one of her wrists she had nowhere to put it but around his neck.
She did so, draping it loosely over his broad shoulder, expecting him to move back if only a smidgen so he could touch her. He'd had his hand up her shirt at Dean's and she wanted it there again. Her breasts burned to be covered by his hand, to be kneaded and teased by his fingers. She had been able to think of little else since the first time. She had dreamed about it, remembered it, replayed the scene over and over so many times she put the preverbal broken record to shame. And on two separate occasions that memory drove her to find satisfaction in the only way available at the time. What more could a woman do when she awoke with her breasts taut and screaming, her pussy on fire and sopping wet but to reach for her vibrator?
It had been a poor substitute, her own hands on her breasts, finger on her clit, vibrator long and hard inside her weeping pussy. The orgasm had been pitiful compared to that which she felt certain Ryan could give her. If only he would put his hands where she wanted them.
"Ryan." His name tore from her on a breathless plea as his lips left her mouth to lick at her cheek, nip at her jaw. "Touch me, Ryan. Please touch me. I want--"
But he silenced the rest of her words when he claimed her mouth once more. She hadn't thought his kisses could get any more extreme or ferocious. Yet they did. God, the heat she tasted in him was scalding her insides!
Absently, as if suddenly her body were divided in two at the waist and her lower half were sending signals to her brain via written correspondence, she felt his hand graze her thigh through the satin of the robe. Finally, thank you sweet baby Jesus, he was going to touch her. Her nipples tightened in anticipation and she forgot all about the amazing things his tongue and teeth were doing to her mouth as she eagerly awaited his hand on her flesh.
It was cold to her heated skin, a block of ice ready to chill and soothe the smoldering surface of her flesh. His fingers snaked beneath the hem of the robe, danced across her thigh and left a trail of icy slivers in its wake.
But the hand didn't climb. Instead, he moved, shifted and wedged a foot between hers on the floor, used it to urge her legs to part. God, if he planned to torment her pussy with his knee again, putting her in a position to gyrate and ride as he had the last time, she wouldn't be able to control herself. He would walk away when this was over with a very wet pant leg.
It wasn't his knee that inched its way toward her throbbing pussy. It was his fingers. He didn't plan to play around at her breasts this time and leave it at that. Although the last time would have gone farther if Dean hadn't interrupted. This time Ryan was going straight for the goal and, oh shit!
Sanity prevailed just as Ryan's fingers pushed their way under the seam of her panties and directly between the slick, hot folds of her pussy lips.