Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) by Erin Noelle Page B

between his teeth, nibbling gently, “I may resort to cannibalism.”
    Playfully waggling my eyebrows, I lift my hand to the back of his neck, threading my fingers through his rebellious hair. The flames of lust ignite inside me once again. “Oh, I can give you something to eat,” I tease, tugging on the dark strands.
    A deep rumble vibrates in his chest, a cross between a laugh and a groan, while he wraps his muscular arm around my waist and rolls us both over. It leaves him flat on his back, wearing only a pair of jeans, and me straddling his hips, still completely naked from our earlier romps. Yes, romps , as in multiple times, with hardly any break in between. The man has impressive stamina.
    His cock isn’t fully hard yet, but as his sultry gaze travels up and down my bare chest, I feel it swelling underneath my already aching sex. Impulsively, I press down on him, my body already starving for more of him after my revitalizing nap.
    Shaking his head, his signature cocky smirk appears as his rough, calloused hands graze up my abdomen to my nipples, pulling firmly on the barbells. My back bows as a mixture of pleasure and pain washes through me, sending a flood of moisture directly between my legs. I bite my lip to hold back the groan, silently hoping he’ll yank harder.
    “You’re for dessert, Sunshine. Didn’t you learn that rule as a kid—you always save the sweets for last or you’ll ruin your dinner?”
    I try to think of something witty to reply with, but his magic fingers are still working my pebbled peaks, stealing all cognitive thoughts from my brain. With my hips brazenly grinding up and down then round and round on top of him, the feverish contact between my naked clit and the bulge beneath the abrasive denim catapults me from sluggish to sex-starved in zero-point-five seconds. I’m rubbing my juices all over his jeans, and I don’t give a fuck. My body thrums with carnal need, and I’ll be damned if we do anything else before I come, regardless of how hungry he is. That’s what he gets for waking me up all sex-god-like.
    Gathering my long, tangled locks in a messy pile on top of my head, my inner stripper appears out of nowhere and takes over, and fuck if she isn’t one helluva lap dancer. His penetrating gaze never leaves mine as I rock, roll, shimmy, and shake myself to the brink of ecstasy.
    “Harder,” I implore, arching farther into his touch. “I need . . . harder .”
    His eyes sizzle with excitement. “God, you’re fucking incredible,” he growls, yanking on one of my darkened, erect nipples with one hand while leaning up to draw the other into his mouth. Worshipping my tight peak with his hot tongue, he sucks, licks, flicks, and . . . bites.
    Oh, fuck yes!
    The sharp sting of his teeth sinking into the delicate skin fuels the blaze of lust burning deep in my belly, sending the edge rushing closer. When he does it a second time, accompanied by a loud, tingling slap of his palm on my ass, I squeeze my lids shut and shatter into a million pieces of sensual release while praising his name like a deity.
    Well, that’s one way to wake up from a nap.
    Once my body stops trembling from the mind-blowing orgasm, I slowly open my eyes and find his smug grin staring back at me. Bending forward, my lips brush lightly across his in an appreciative kiss.
    “Now I’m ready to eat, Hulk.”

    El Pinto Mexican food restaurant is the fucking bomb. A combination of gorgeous, sprawling hacienda-style ambiance, delicious authentic New Mexico cuisine, mouth-watering pitchers of house fresh margaritas, and a fun-loving, exuberant group of people sitting with me around a patio table. My cheeks hurt from the permanent smile that’s been stamped across my face since the moment we stepped under the vine-covered arch and through the glass double doors. After several big O’s on the trek down here, and then this phenomenal meal, I’d have to say my impromptu summer road trip has started out a tremendous