She dropped down from her toes. “That long? I’m disappointed in you.”

Hell. After that smartass remark, he lifted her into his arms and bounded the stairs. Winters kicked the door closed behind them and fell onto the bed, bracing over her with a forearm on each side of her head. That was less than five seconds, wasn’t it?

“That mouth of yours might get you into trouble.”

Her eyes danced. “You can’t even begin to imagine what my mouth might do.”

Oh, his imagination worked just fine, thank you. Every dream he ever stored in memory, queued up and flashed at the ready. All of his blood rushed straight to his cock, and every muscle tightened in a restrained effort. He throbbed with the thought of her mouth taking him. It was almost too much to bear. Almost.

“You can’t do much pinned under me.” He was as obvious and pointless as directions on a rocket launcher, reading Aim toward the enemy.

“Let me see what I can do about that.” She licked her top lip in one slow, wet lash.

Before he knew how to wrangle that thought, her hands planted on his chest and pushed against him like he wasn’t two hundred plus pounds of lean muscle. She could have used her pinky and had him flat on his back, powerless to her will. That was just fine with him.

Mia straddled his waist like a dominatrix ready to work. She drew his black shirt up, working it over his head with the efficiency of a woman on a sexual mission. Her fingers spread wide and ran though his chest hair. Her chilly palms left a trail of fire. She rocked her hips and arched her back.

“Open your eyes, Colby.” Her soft order contradicted the inferno hidden in her words, and he all but said yes, ma’am. If she wanted to call the plays, he was more than game to give her this round.

Silken hair teased his chest as she leaned over to kiss him. Hard, wanting, greedy. Her fingernails traced an old battle scar, high and right on his chest, then threaded into the coarse hairs and tugged with a temptress’s touch.

He flexed against her center, radiating heat. She met his drive, rubbing a slow rhythm, an exacting pace, demanding what she wanted of him. Wet kisses danced across his chest. In a move of perfect torture, she shimmied down his legs. Her face and lips hung above his skin, a glowing sun ready to set. She kissed one side of his stomach, then the other, leaving red-hot tracks of smoldering embers.

She unfastened his utilitarian belt. So practical, except for when it wasn’t. But the leather bent to her will and loosened at her sultry command. Next, the top button popped open and the zipper released. If one could suffer in paradise, then he was there.