It’s a lazy, languid motion, the polar opposite of the galloping heart in my chest.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, towering close enough that my breasts brush his chest when I inhale. “Tell me to walk you back to the table.”
As if such an option existed.
“Why would I?” I challenge. “We’re pretending, after all.”
He chuckles. His hand skims down my arm, catching my wrist, guiding it behind me, away from the wall. My ass hits something and Liam lifts me up.
A counter.
Empty.
Perfect.
I’m about to grab his lapels and finally claim his mouth, but he steps away.
Of course, he does.When it comes to sex, I’m in charge.
“Your panties,” he rasps.
Trembling with need, I reach into my pocket andhand him my underwear. He covers his nose with the cotton and breathes in.
My core explodes; my pulse quickens. Why is that so hot?
Putting the panties into his pocket, he steps between my legs. “Lift,” he orders, slides his fingers into my waistband, and before I know it, my pants are just a pool of fabric on the floor.
The heat of him… the scent of him—clean soap, warm skin, a hint of leather—wraps around me like a spell. I almost whimper when he steps back again.
“Spread those pretty legs for me, Thunder.”
For a brief moment, I’m Foxy and he’s Romeo, and I’m transported into the room at the sex club.
“Roxy!” He growls, his velvet baritone snapping me back to here and now.
Spread those pretty legs for me.
I push away the déjà vu and open my legs wide, the cold, hard surface uninviting.
“You can do better.”
It’s a command and an encouragement. I might fight for the remains of control here, but he knows I want to do better.
He knows before I’m ready to admit it. To surrender.
I scoot back on the counter, lift my heels to thewooden edge, and lower my knees. “Better?” My question is a whisper against his throat.
“Much better. Look at that beautiful cunt of yours. And so wet for me.” He pulls out my underwear, unzips himself, and wraps the cotton around his cock.
And what a cock! Jesus.
“You’ve been such a good girl for me so far, Roxy. Do you want to see what you do to me?”
He gives himself three rough strokes. I want him to step closer, but at the same time, I need him to stay away.
He’s playing a dangerous game. Delayed gratification. Edging without touching. I’m on the brink of madness.
“I asked you a question.”
