“I’m working.”
“You’re past the safety line. Way past it.”
I ignore him.
Pressure sinks into the occipital ridge.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
His eyes close, his head tipping forward until his forehead rests against my chest.
A shudder rolls through him.
Not muscle.
Reaction.
His head turns, just enough. Stubble grazes my knuckles, rough and electric.
It’s like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.
My heart slams hard enough to rattle my ribs.
His hand comes up.
Not gentle. He catches my wrist with an iron grip. His fingers close around my forearm, his thumb pressing into the soft skin over my pulse. The erratic beat races against his skin. He counts the beats. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
One sharp tug.
I stumble forward.
Momentum carries me straight into the V of his legs. My palms land on his chest, sliding over slick skin and unyielding muscle, and his heart gallops beneath them.
Just as fast as mine.
His eyes lift.
The amber vanishes. Swallowed whole by black. What looks back at me is raw, starving, and stripped of polite restraint. The wolf, looking at the rabbit.
A groan tears from him: low, wrecked.
He releases my wrist. His hands settle on my hips. Calloused thumbs dig into my bone, anchoring me in place.
Heat pours off him, burning through the thin cotton between us. The hard ridge of his arousal presses against my thigh, unrelenting.
My knees threaten to give.
Desire pools low, heavy, and molten, dragging me under. Everything to do with the man holding me. Everything to do with the fact that for the first time in my life, I’m not in control, and I don’t want to be.
My gaze drops to his mouth. So close. A hard line I ache to soften.
“This is a bad idea. A catastrophic one.” His tone is low, deep, powerful, and sexy as sin.
“Yes.” I breathe the word onto his lips.
“You should tell me to stop.”
