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“Apply more than you think,” I murmur.
She starts spraying, but she’s standing too far from the wall. Without thinking, I place my hands on her hips and move her forward. It’s the wrong move because, now that my hands are on her, I know exactly what she feels like. Soft. Shapely. And this close, I can smell her scent, even over the stinging aroma of the stripper.
Peaches.She smells like fucking peaches.
I bite back a growl of approval as I peel my hands off of her once she is an appropriate distance from the wall. I watch her backside as she does the job. Her ass is perfectly round, and I imagine my handprint outlined across the cheeks.
Her ass is definitely biteable, but as I raise my gaze higher to her hips where they dip to meet her ass, I realize how damn inviting they are. I’d place my hands there as I drove into her over and over again. It’s the perfect place to grab on, the perfect place for bruises from me holding on tight.
I raise my gaze higher to the back of her bare shoulders. Her skin is flawless. Creamy and slightly tanned. Itmakes me wonder, if I bite the crook of her neck from behind, would she moan? Is that a sensitive spot for her? How would her moan sound?
The idea of her moaning makes me adjust my pants again, and just as I finish doing so, she turns around. My gaze immediately goes to her chest where . . . son of a bitch, she isn’t wearing a bra. Her pebbled nipples poke through her tank top.
Either she doesn’t notice me staring, or she doesn’t bother commenting on it because she says, “Is that soaked enough?”
Soaked.If this keeps going the way it’s going, my briefs are going to be soaked from precum.
“Hmm?”
She frowns. “The wall?”
I look at the wallpaper, focusing back on the task at hand, and give a nod.
Her hair falls over her shoulder when she tips her head to the side. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I grit out, focusing on anything but her chest.
“You don’t seem fine. You seem… you seem like a caged animal.”
“I said that I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, because-”
Her words cut off as I snap my gaze to her and stalk toward her. She backs up into the wall that already has the wallpaper torn off, and when her shoulders hit it, she drops the sprayer to the ground with an unsure expression. I invade her space, press my chest to hers, and grip her jaw.
And then I take her mouth.
At first, she freezes, stiffening in my embrace, but when I wrap my other hand around her backside, squeezing my arm between her and the wall, she seemingly melts against me. Her lips start to slide along mine, and I angle her headback to deepen the kiss before sliding my hand down from her jaw to collar her neck.
Unable to help myself, I squeeze a little.
Pulling back, I take in her face while rubbing my thumb over her rapid pulse. There’s fear there, but I see the flicker of arousal in the way she breathes and in the part of her lips. But she doesn’t stop me, and I’m glad. She looks so damn hot with my hand around her neck that it makes me wonder just how much of me she can take.
I tease her bottom lip with my tongue until she opens. She tastes like coffee and peaches. I dip my tongue inside, tasting her. Devouring her.
She makes a little whimpering sound when I press her tighter against me. My erection grinds against her stomach, and I want nothing more than to shove it in every hole she has.
Instead, I pull back from the kiss. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t wear a brafor me.” I shake my head once while I stare into her bright blue, hazy eyes. “You don’t want a guy like me.”
She starts to say something, but I let her go and take one step back. I don’t miss the red mark around her neck and the sick and twisted thrill that it gives me.
“I’m no good for you,” I add with difficulty. It isn’t a lie. No matter how much my mind and body scream for her, I won’t subject her to a life like mine. She deserves better. She deserves more than what an ex-convict can give her. She’s brighter than tying herself to an asshole like me, someone incapable of responding to the same kind of affection she’d surely deliver.
Her chest heaves as she considers my words. “Live wildly.”
“What?”
She shakes her head. “I’m a big girl, Cole.” Crossingthe foot-width distance, she grabs the hem of my shirt in her fists, a practical plea. “I get to decide what I do with my life.”
