The Lumberfox (Geekrotica) Read Online Free

outside of that arm, and she wondered which of them was the siren in this situation.
    “I'm ticklish,” he murmured against her fingers.
    “I can tell.”
    “What about you?”
    His tongue darted to the cleft between her knuckles, and she was shocked when a jolt of heat shot through her like forked lightning and wetness spread lower down. He must've seen her shudder, as he did it again, slowly and deeper this time. Jesus, it was like he was licking her most secret center, the sensation somehow connecting from her fingers to darker, hidden places. Tara swallowed hard and struggled not to break eye contact or fidget or say something silly, and Ryon slowly turned her fist over and unfurled her fingers, planting tender kisses on each fingertip, down her palm, and up her arm. When his beard brushed over the inside of her elbow, she bit back a giggle.
    And that's when he went in for the kiss—when her lips were pursed and her nerves dancing. It was firmer, this time, more urgent, and he didn't nibble at all, just sought immediate, demanding entry. She kissed him back, just as hard, wrapping her hands behind his head and enjoying where the longer top of his hair flopped down over the shaved part, a contrast of smooth and prickly. Hungry for more, she tasted and teased with her tongue, dipping deep and drinking in the strange wonder of raging passion for a near stranger. As if untying a bow, he untucked her feet and hooked them over his thighs, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her like the most delicious cage.
    And, dammit, she let him, because it was wonderful.
    Wanting more, she settled firmly into his lap and circled her legs around his waist, squeezing his sides with her knees as if urging a horse to a gallop and opening her lips wider as he lapped at her and explored every part of her mouth.
    He pulled away for a brief, burning second. “Goddamn, I like kissing you.”
    She set her forehead to his. “I know.”
    And he kissed her again, deep and sloppy and hungry, as if quoting Han Solo was the hottest possible thing a woman could do.
    Ryon's hands settled on her waist and drew light circles up her sides, inching under her tee shirt and cami and making her shiver where the air struck. It was warm in his apartment, but the heat of the fire made every slice of shadow a cold shock.
    “You trying to steal second, scoundrel?” she purred.
    He already had her tee-shirt halfway over her head when she realized what she'd done and muttered, “Oh, shit.”
    “Arms up. Be a good sport, princess.”
    But her arms were already up, and she soon had them crossed over her chest to combat the chill. Glancing at the parted curtains of a tall window, she saw nothing but white. No flakes, no breaks, no swirls. Just a solid wall of white edging into dusk. Ryon tossed her black tee on top of the clothes pile and smoothed her hair back over her shoulders, revealing thin, white, lacy straps that she knew very well stood out over the black lines of her bra. It had been months since anyone had stripped her down far enough to discover a cami that didn't even attempt to hide what waited underneath.
    “Black, huh?”
    She shrugged. “To answer your question without being funny, yes. I wear a lot of black.”
    “Under white. That says something about you.”
    His eyes narrowed, the orange of the flame behind her dancing against the dark blue, daring her to give him any excuse to peel the cami off her and expose the frilly demi bra below. And she almost said something silly in her own defense, but instead, she ovaried up and began unbuttoning his shirt from the neck down.
    “Let's see what you wear under plaid flannel, then. Five bucks says it's a band shirt.”
    His fingers traced the line under her cami's lace-edged hem. “I can't decide if that's supposed to be funny or not, but the tension's still here, so I'll allow it.”
    When the last button was undone, Tara looked down. The National. Of course. He let her slide the