Scarecrow & Betsy McGee Book VI: Wedding Wild

"You may kiss your bride." Betsy heard the words and then felt the world tilt as Roarke swept up her veil, took her in his arms and merged his lips with hers.

Heat, overwhelming heat. The man was a superhero when it came to his job and his kissing. Thank God. He pulled her closer to him, and she damned the voluminous waves of white lace wrapping around the bottom half of her dress because it kept her from feeling the full length of his impressive dick pressed against her.

His eyes, as they looked into hers, were bright with desire and awareness. When she bit his bottom lip gently, then sucked on the wound, she saw humor sparkle in those wonderful eyes as well.

For a second she forgot all about their job and luxuriated in the fantasy that this marriage was real. The tulle of the dress no longer seemed a pain. The presence of strangers didn't matter.

She reveled in the feel of his lips against hers, the sweep of his tongue across her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and sending pulses of pleasure racing through her body. Her body had been well- schooled in the pleasures available with Roarke's touch, so it didn't take much to get her engine firing on all cylinders.

But this kiss and all it stood for, all it hinted at for the future, wasn't just about the physical pleasure they would bring each other. This touch was more.

Now her low-cut gown was a blessing and the way her breasts were swelling was nothing short of a female's signals of readiness to her mate. She leaned more solidly back against him and felt the hard force of him, his hardening cock a ready fit between the cheeks of her soft ass.

He cupped and caressed her breasts before reaching up with his thumb and forefinger and plucking her beaded nipple like he was playing a violin. Betsy licked her tongue across her top lip, trying to keep her groan of pleasure from escalating out of her throat. She felt his warm lips move down her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. She felt the length of his erection pressing harder against her butt and, for a second, for a glorious, amazing second, thought she could place her hand against the glass wall, lean forward and let him fuck her up the ass as they rode to the sun.

"Ahem." The sound of the coordinator's voice was like a bucket of freezing river water dumping from the ceiling on them.

Amber Quill Press