Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2) by Mira Gibson

time, as Kevin assisted her and in the next moment he tossed the garment into the hallway and began grazing his big, warm hands up her thighs from where he was kneeling.
    She looked down at him, watched his hands caress her, studied his thick mop of dark hair, getting a bit lost in the shape of his muscular shoulders, the way his shirt clung tightly around his arms.
    He lifted up enough to find the Neosporin in the sink and as she stood before him in her panties and flowing tee shirt that hung just shy of her waist, he began dabbing disinfectant on her knees.
    This was crazy. She was about to... what? Sleep with a cop? Or was it perfect? Was it just what she needed? It felt like more than that. She wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she knew him well or at all, but Tasha had seen a big enough glimpse into who he really was—kind, brave, willing to go up against a crime family and his precinct for God’s sake in order to find justice and keep her safe. She didn’t just want this . She wanted him and her bed seemed so far away because of it.
    She plowed her fingers through his hair and he glanced up, catching her hand, as he stood.
    He studied her palm then brought her other hand up so he could compare them. She watched, noting that her left hand looked much worse than the right.
    “We should’ve iced it,” he said softly.
    “I’ll live.”
    He met her gaze, holding her hands. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
    She exhaled a soft, moaning breath and felt every part of her melt as she drifted into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and feeling his warm hands holding her waist.
    He leaned in and their lips met, as his hands traveled her body, caressing down her hips, down her thighs and up again, squeezing her ass.
    She let out a surprised moan, feeling him massage her. Then he slid his fingers under the lace of her panties.
    Soon he pulled back so he could look at her, but her eyelids were heavy with arousal.
    “Since I saw you walk into my precinct,” he said softly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
    “Have you ever been with someone like me?” she asked in a breathy whisper.
    “No,” he said easily. “But that’s because you’re one of a kind.”
    He held her close and kissed her for a long moment, causing her to flush hot with a wave of tingles fluttering through her that culminated between her legs. She was burning for him, aching, and could feel him stiffening beneath his jeans where his hips pressed against hers.
    She needed to get him out of this bathroom, but twining her fingers through his hair, exploring the velvety curves of his mouth, feeling his cool breath on her cheek as they kissed, wasn’t something she wanted to interrupt.
    He groaned then broke free, saying, “I want you.”
    Taking his hand, she led him up the short hallway into the main space. As she came to the edge of the bed, he grasped the hem of her tee shirt, lifting it up and over her head. From behind, he cast the garment to the floor and his hands cupped her chest, the thin lace of her bra still between them.
    She leaned against him, relishing the feel of his strong body behind her, and when he stepped back, he quickly unfastened her bra. As it fell, his warm hands returned to her breasts, cupping and squeezing gently in a massage that made her wet and her knees weaken.
    He began kissing the side of her neck, his fingers teasing her nipples, and soon his right hand traveled down the length of her stomach, slid under the modest triangle of lavender lace, and grazed downward so slowly—the lightest touch—that she began aching for him, hot and wet and throbbing between her legs.
    Reaching back, Tasha felt his jeans, the button, the zipper, managing with fumbling hands to get them undone, as he explored deeper between her legs, sliding his warm fingers along the length of her slippery labia and at times gently circling her clitoris.
    She reached down his jeans and felt his hard erection