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14
MADDIE
I expectannoyance and maybe even a little anger, but that's not what I see shining in his gaze. Heat and possessiveness and need. His brown eyes are nearly black as they smolder, it sends a straight shot of lust to my core.
My brows dip low as I struggle to keep up with his shifting moods. “I don’t understand you. Why don’t you stake your claim then? Why are you so hot and cold?”
“What’s to understand?”
I blow out a breath when I look at him, really look at him. I take in his broad shoulders, his intricate tattoos decorating his skin, his muscles and the veins that protrude from his forearms.
He’s a Lamborghini in a world of Civics.
Sleek, sexy, fucking dangerous.
But underneath that steel exterior, he’s so much more, I can feel it in my bones. I only hope he allows me access. I bite my lip and refocus my thoughts.
“One day you’re whispering dirty things in my ear in the dark, and then weeks later, you won’t touch me. That’s what I don’t understand.”
He leans forward, angling his body toward me. “Is that what you think—that I don’t want to touch you?”
I fold my arms across my chest, squeezing them tight as if I can physically ward off my blossoming embarrassment. I feel ridiculous and a little selfish even asking him about this considering I just came from Dante’s room. And I have three other men who own a piece of my heart.
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“There are things happening that you don’t know about. One small move, and it all crashes down like a house of cards.” His tone is dismissive, and I can’t stop my defensiveness from bubbling up.
“So tell me!”
“You’re not ready.”
“Don’t presume to know what I can and can’t handle, Rafael.”
His lips curl into a wry smile. “I would never. On the contrary, Raven, I’m looking out for you. You’re not ready yet, but you will be. Soon.”
Something about the way he looks at me when he says that deflates some of my indignation. Distantly, I realize I could stop the conversation and whatever this is right now. I could put a pin in it and revisit it later, when we’re not about to sneak behind enemy lines. But maybe that’s the reason I push him. “Ready for what?”
He holds himself just out of reach, his sun-warmed wet skin a hair's breadth away from touching me. “I want to touch every inch of your skin and claim it for my own. Place my hands in every spot his hands were, erase his touch from your skin. I’m fucking desperate to slide inside that tight pussy. I’d spend hours—days—fucking years in there, long enough that you forget about everything else except the way you feel when I’m with you.”
A potent mix of desperation and lust forms with each word falling from his lips. My chest practically heaves, the air feeling thin as I stare, transfixed at the man before me. The fabric of the robe digs into my thighs as I shift on the rough concrete.
“Does that answer your question, Raven?”
His voice is deceptively calm and quiet, like he didn’t just tunnel inside my head and rip fantasies from it. At some point, my lids fall halfway closed, as if they, too, are weighed down with the lust coursing through my veins. I groan at the mental image of him fulfilling his promises.
It’s like my groan snapped something inside him. He closes the small space between us and brushes his lips against mine as he says, “You feel like mine, Raven.”
The water reflects the sun, scattering prisms of light around us. It feels like the air itself holds its breath as Aries places his palm on my chest, right over my heart.
“Here.” His brown locks fall across his forehead like he’s some Hollywood heartthrob as he watches his fingertips swirl patterns on my skin.
I suck in a breath, my focus narrowing on every place our bodies touch. I lick my lips, but I don’t utter a sound. I’m afraid anything I say is going to break the spell he’s weaving over us right now.
He trails his hands over the lapel of the bathrobe, following the fabric until it ends just below my upper thigh. Purposeful fingers skate over my pussy through the small scrap of thin fabric. “And here.”
He teases me with his soft touches. Lust weighs me down, my limbs feel grounded to the earth—to him. A low groan slips through my closed lips as he circles right over my clit three, four, five times. My hips tilt toward him without conscious thought, and I feel his smile against my lips instead of see it.
“Please, Rafael.” If I wasn’t so turned on, I might be embarrassed with how breathy my voice sounds.
