In Flames - Elise Faber Page 0,2

and it was absolutely glorious.

Suz wasn’t wearing her usual T-shirt and jeans—she’d kept the latter but swapped out the former for a shining piece of black silk that clung to her curves and made him want to trace his fingers over the glittering material . . . then beneath it.

“Come here,” she whispered, gripping the sides of his face, tugging his head up from her throat, and taking his mouth in a kiss that showed exactly how much she’d grown up. Confident and demanding, he’d never had anything hotter than this woman pressed up against him, kissing him until his lungs screamed for oxygen.

Eventually though, they needed to breathe, so he released her lips, trailing his mouth along her jaw, reveling in the soft moans, the way her fingers grew tighter in his hair.

But he couldn’t kiss the parts he wanted to reach.

She was short, and he was tall, and he couldn’t become a fucking pretzel, much as he was trying.

Luckily, he was also strong.

A senior soldier, he was trained to protect his people—and that didn’t mean just using his magic. He was deadly in hand-to-hand combat, a decent marksman, and prided himself on being a tough motherfucker.

His mother had told him more than once as a child that it was okay to cry if he was hurting, that he was allowed to be sad after his father had died.

But Graham wasn’t like that.

Tie it down, buckle it tight, be a man, and make sure she was okay, his sister was okay.

Make sure they all were okay. He’d do it, serve his people, care for those who were vulnerable until his last breath.

Just like his father.

Except . . . he wasn’t really thinking about his father, his past, his centuries on this planet. Or not for long, anyway.

Because Suz was in his arms, those glorious breasts pressed to his chest, her scent surrounding him, her hands dragging his head back up as she slanted her lips across his. Her tongue in his mouth, fingers sliding from his hair to grip his shoulders. He shifted, slipping his hands under her thighs and lifting her up into his arms, coaxing her to straddle his hips, and holding back a moan when she pressed against the hard jut of his erection.

And still, he kissed her. Or maybe she was kissing him.

Either way, any concerns about the past, their differences disappeared. She rocked against his cock, sending desire flooding through him, making sparks coalesce in the corners of his vision. And just that—her in his arms, riding him—was the hottest fucking sexual experience of his life, and they were both still fully clothed.

Speaking of which. He wanted to get them some place horizontal. Hell, vertical, diagonal, upside down, he didn’t give a fuck.

He just wanted to go somewhere he could get Suz naked.

Immediately.

“Where?” he asked, pulling his mouth free and nipping at the shell of her ear.

“My office,” she moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders, thighs tightening around his waist. “Hurry. I—”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He’d had five decades of pretending he didn’t notice the luscious curves she was packing, the ass that filled out the backside of her jeans and made a man imagine way too many ways to pay homage to those squeezable globes, the breasts that would overfill his hands, thighs that were strong and capable and felt fucking incredible beneath his palms, even still encased in denim.

Rapid steps brought him down the hall, to the office where he’d seen her working late many a night.

Come to think of it, he’d also seen her here many an early morning.

Which brought to mind the question of when this woman actually slept, and if she was taking care of herself, and—

His mind went blank.

Because the moment he’d crossed the threshold to her office, she wiggled out of his arms and shimmied out of the sleek black top she was wearing.

His mouth went dry.

His cock grew harder.

Lace. Pale lavender that brought out the gold tones in her skin, the dusky pink of her nipples just barely evident through the material of her bra. His eyes trailed down the softness of her abdomen to the jeans . . . well, to the button of her jeans. Because her fingers were there, flicking open the circle of metal.

The noise as she drew down the zipper was loud in the silence of the room.

Then . . . more pale lace.

Her mouth quirked when he managed to drag his gaze back up to hers. “You like?”

He