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He wasn’t alone in that. One night, she decided. She’d allow herself one last night with him, even though … “It probably isn’t a good idea.” She let out a shaky breath as he lowered his face to hers, leaving their mouths mere inches apart.
“Tell me you don’t want this. If you can say it and mean it, I’ll step back. I will.” So slowly it was agonizing, he lowered his face that little bit more … until their mouths touched as he said, “Tell me you don’t want it.”
She couldn’t. She didn’t. And he seemed to take that for the surrender that it was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fisting her hair, Tate took her mouth and plunged his tongue inside. And there it was—that sweetly addictive taste that had set up a craving in him four months ago. He groaned, long and loud. Fuck if he hadn’t missed it.
As need exploded between them, he used his grip on her hair to angle her head and sank his tongue deeper. The kiss was hot. Wet. Hungry. Urgent. He couldn’t get enough.
He swore he could get fucking drunk on her taste—it made his head spin, just like her delectable scent that now perfumed the air laced with arousal. It made his inner feline frantic for her, like her scent was fucking catnip.
Tate growled low in his throat as she thrust her fingers through his hair and wildly scratched at his scalp. The sting made his rock-hard dick throb painfully. He roughly ground against her clit again and again, feeling the heat of her pussy through their jeans.
Neither of them had much control. They were both frantic and desperate, yanking at each other’s clothes. Soon, both his tee and her blouse were gone. She curled one leg over his hip just as he cupped her breast and thumbed her nipple through the black lace of her bra.
Arching into his hand, she tore her lips free to take a breath. With a snarl, Tate claimed her mouth again, nowhere near done with it. He feasted. Devoured. Plundered.
He gave her taut nipple a pinch and slid his hand over her breast, up her chest, and then snaked it around her throat. Just as he’d expected, her body stilled. Her breath caught. And a throaty snarl poured out of her mouth into his.
She broke the kiss, clearly riled by his dominant hold. “Let. Go.”
If he thought she genuinely didn’t like it, he’d release her instantly. But this wasn’t about likes or dislikes. This was a battle for dominance. Not a sexual game. It wasn’t about kneeling, lowering your eyes, or obeying every order. This was something much more primal—an alpha female demanding that her male prove himself worthy of her and any ounce of submission she’d deign to give him. Both he and his cat intended to do just that.
So Tate flexed his hand around her throat, leaned all his body weight into her, and said simply, “No.”
She scratched at his wrist hard enough to sting but didn’t draw blood. “Let fucking go.”
Tightening his grip on her hair, he instead snatched her head back and squeezed her throat. “Behave. Unless you want to get dry humped against this counter. I’m not opposed to that, but I’ll be the only one who gets to come.”
She shoved at his chest and kicked at him. He let her. She was strong enough to escape his hold if it was what she truly wanted. But this wasn’t a test of his physical strength. She was pitting her will against his. So he didn’t move an inch, didn’t loosen his hold on her, didn’t berate her, didn’t lose his patience. He just stayed very still, outwaiting her, letting her know that he wouldn’t be cowered.
She eventually ceased struggling, but there was no surrender in the act—her body was still tense, her muscles coiled to strike. As such, he didn’t release her, but he slowly lifted her head by her hair. “That’s better. Now … open your jeans.”
Her eyes flared.
“Do it.”
“Can’t,” she bit out. “You’re crushing me.”
“I’ll give your hands some room once they’re heading in the right direction. Now open your jeans. I want to slide my finger into that pussy of yours.” He was so attuned to her that he sensed her tense muscles slacken just a little.
She tried slipping her hands between their bodies. He pulled back his hips a few inches, giving her some room, and felt her fingers tackling her fly. A zipper lowered—
She lunged forward and latched her teeth on his throat, taking him off-guard. His cock went impossibly thicker, and his jaw ached with the need to return the bite. Hands shoved his chest hard enough to make him stagger backwards. Then she was gone from his hold and racing out of the kitchen. He should have seen that coming.
