“We did have people shooting in the forest,” he said in a judicial tone. “It would be best if we performed an inspection for missing or damaged parts.” He pulled her shirt off, sat beside her with one hand behind her back and the other on her breast.

He kissed her.

Sensory overload. Her lips were full and soft. Her breast was full and soft. Both equally appealing. Jesus.

“Mmm. This part seems functional. Let me check the other one.” He cupped her other breast, enjoying the heavy weight on his palm as he kissed down her neck, taking care to miss the scratched spots. “Yes, this one seems to be fine.”

When he ran his thumb around her velvety nipple, she pulled in a shaky breath. Nicely sensitive. Yeah, his mouth needed to be there.

Slipping off the sectional onto his knees, he flattened her on the cushions, hand in her hair. Lowering his head, he licked around one soft nipple, blew a puff of air, and tongued the heady peak.

Ohhhh. When Bull stretched her out on the couch, she felt like a virgin sacrifice on an altar. And as if in response, her naked breasts were throbbing and tingling. He closed his mouth over one aching nipple, and the bloom of lust made her back arch.

He switched to the other breast, rubbing his slightly scratchy goatee against the tender underside before drawing the nipple into his mouth. His mouth was far too skilled.

Her body was melting into a carnal pool. If this was what happened during pagan rituals, she’d volunteer to be tribute. Even though she wasn’t a virgin.

She ran her hands over his head, enjoying the feel of the shaved scalp. Not stubbly, but ever-so-soft skin, like sun-warmed, buttery leather.

Moving up, he kissed her again, even as he teased her nipples with his fingers. “I can report that the above-ground equipment seems to be in good order,” he murmured. When he rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, her mind hazed at the pleasure.

“Well.” She blinked, then gripped the back of his T-shirt. “Hold still. I mustn’t slack off on the job.”

He ducked his head, letting her pull the shirt over his head and off.

Oh, santo cielo. Good God, she might not survive this. His body was male perfection, from the strong, corded neck, the smooth bronze expanse of his wide chest, to the hard slab of his ribbed abdomen. One shoulder had a tattoo with an eagle perched on an anchor, clutching a rifle and a trident. The other shoulder had a frog skeleton. A friend’s husband who’d been in the Navy SEALs also had one of those eerie tats. A long scar ran over his upper chest, a circular white one on his lower abdomen.

He was a warrior.