Page 110 of Irresistibly Wicked

His words slid beneath her skin, gentle, thrilling, emboldening, as he guided her arms over her head and came down over her. He brushed his scruff along her cheek, sending prickles of heat down her chest, and rasped, “Open your mouth, darlin’.”

Those prickles of heat were nothing compared to the scorching anticipation of his gruff request. Her thoughts ran through possibilities of what he might do as she complied.

He sprayed whipped cream on her tongue, then sealed his mouth over hers in a domineering act of passion, like he was trying to erase any space between them. She opened her mouth wider, willingly handing him that space. He took the kiss deeper, the taste of sweet cream and him colliding in an electrifying combination, and she was there for it. She bowed beneath him, meeting every inch of his hard, hot body, desperate for more even as the force of their kisses threatened to shatter her.

He tore his mouth away, leaving her breathless, bound, and utterly lost in his ruining. His grin was dark and gratified as he picked up the can of whipped cream and shook it, his eyes trained on her as if daring her to protest.

Protest against something that would lead to his mouth on her? Never.

When the cold whipped cream landed on her nipple, she gasped. His lips curved up as he sprayed it on her other nipple and then dragged that nozzle straight down the center of her body, those hungry eyes following all the way down to the edge of her underwear, like he was mapping a trail only he was allowed to travel. Setting down the can, he dragged his tongue around one nipple, then lowered his mouth over it, sucking it to the roof of his mouth. Lightning sparked in her core, a desperate sound shooting from her lips. He gave her other nipple the same excruciating attention.

“Who needs coffee when I’ve got you to get me going?” she panted out.

A rough laugh fell from his lips, and then that talented mouth was on her again, slowly and deliberately making its way down the trail of whipped cream. “Sweet and messy. Just the way I like you.”

Her laugh broke on a shiver as he slicked his tongue down her stomach. He continued licking, sucking, and nipping his way south, groping and caressing, making gruff, appreciative sounds as she writhed and pleaded, her wrists fighting against their tether. By the time he reached her underwear, she was trembling with anticipation. He wasted no time stripping off the thin cotton and snagged the can of whipped cream, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “Time for my favorite breakfast.”

“Get busy, or I’m charging for room service.”

His laugh was sinful as he covered her neediest parts in whipped cream. Tossing the can to the floor, he buried that sinful mouth between her legs in a fierce devouring, stealing the breath from her lungs. Every slick of his tongue and graze of his teeth, every greedy suck and kiss, drove her ache deeper. When he brought his hands into play, she shattered like glass, sharp and loud against his masterful ministrations.

Just as she started to catch her breath and sink to the mattress, he quickened his efforts, reaching up with one hand to squeeze her nipple, catapulting her into oblivion. “Zander—” shot from her lungs, and she threw her bound wrists forward, grabbing his hair. “I want you.”

In the space of a few heart-thrumming seconds, he was naked and driving into her. They both cried out as their bodies took over, thrusting and grinding. “Need your hands on me,” he growled, and tore the binding from her wrists. She clung to him as their mouths fused like molten metal in a savage kiss, all heat and teeth and hunger, unraveling her more by the second. Their every move, every touch, was like fire, blazing and building, and he was burning and climbing with her. His muscles flexed and his powerful hips thrusted harder and faster, unleashing a tidal wave of sensations that tore through her at the same moment he growled her name, rough and unguarded, as if she’d wrung it from his soul.

They rode out their storm of passion until all that was left were aftershocks and gasps, clinging to one another like survivors of something earth-shattering. Something bigger than the two of them. Something Shauna couldn’t afford to think about, and never wanted to escape.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

SHAUNA WAS THINKING about her and Zander’s whipped-cream sexcapade while she finished restocking the ambulance later that morning, when her phone chimed with a group text from the girls. She’d already received texts from Preacher and Reba.

Madigan: Happy birthday Sha Sha! I can’t believe we had to find out it was your birthday from Zander. We could have planned a party!

Shauna hadn’t even thought to mention it to them, but she wasn’t surprised Zander had. He was so thoughtful, and he knew how much she loved the girls and appreciated their friendships. Before she could respond, more texts rolled in.

Chloe: Happiest of birthdays, Shauna! We’ll miss you at the fireworks tonight, but let’s plan a time to celebrate. You only turn 25 once!

Emerson: I’m baking you birthday cookies! I can’t believe your birthday is July 4th!

Sid: Happy birthday! A cat makes a great gift. The rescue is open tomorrow. Come pick one out.

Reese: We should def plan a party. Happy birthday!

Leah: The kids are making you birthday cards, and next time I see you, I’m giving you a big birthday hug. Happy 25th!

Shauna’s throat thickened as she thumbed out a response.

Shauna: Thank you! I’d love to get together, but I’ll pass on picking out a cat until—her thumbs stilled over the buttons, the rest of the thought, until she moved out of Zander’s, stopping her cold.

Howie came out the firehouse door and called over to her, “Hey, Flores, Cap wants you in the dayroom.”

“One sec,” she called out, and with her heart in her throat, she quickly finished typing the message—I move out of Zander’s. I’ll miss cuddling—with him and—with Kitty. I’ve got to run. Cap needs me, but thank you again for the birthday wishes!

Madigan: Tell Cap we said hi!

Shauna sent a thumbs-up emoji and pocketed her phone as she headed into the station. She heard the guys talking as she came down the hall. The second she stepped into the dayroom, a sharp click overhead made her flinch, and a burst of confetti rained down on her in a blinding paper storm. Colorful strips clung to her hair, her lashes, and even her mouth as she sputtered, half-startled, half-laughing. The guys cheered, “Happy birthday!” as they popped out from various hiding places and drenched her with Super Soakers.

She shouted, “Seriously?” trying to dodge the streams as she ran to the other side of the room, laughing.