“Sh…” I find air. “Shut up. I’m a fan. So what? You havemillionsof them. I like your videos. I like your vibe. You already know I don’t hateyou. Even though,” I grit, “I can beconvincedto reevaluate that terrible decision.”
He sits on my bed.
My heart hits my uvula.
Crossing his legs, he leans forward and plants his elbow on his thigh. Chin in palm, he watches me.
Red steadily takes over every inch of my flesh.
“Oh ho?” hepurrs, which is something I did not know he could do. “I thought you told me that being on someone’s bed isquite literally nothing, mistress. Lots of reevaluating happening in your pretty little head right now, isn’t there?”
Stomping, I reach him, open my mouth, and stare.Stare. Stare athim. Onmy bed. Smiling at me.Smirkingat me. Eyes passionate with very clear and obvious undertones. I rake in a breath, collect myself, grab the collar of his shirt, and seethe, inches away from his…mouth.
His legs uncross. His fingers latch into the hem of my FrostPlays limited edition t-shirt. He tugs, and I wind up between his thighs, knees to my mattress.
“Three,” he murmurs.
I blink. “What?”
“Two,” he whispers, and his arm lifts in the corner of my eye.
My lips part.
“One.” His whole palm fits to the back of my head, facilitating closing the distance between us.
I gasp, expecting thekiss of my life, but our foreheads onlyclunktogether.
Disappointment shreds into my body. It…makes me mad. Is hekiddingme? That would have been… It could have been… This was such a…
“Ooh.” He wets his lips, and Iwatch, front-row seat, as his tongue moves. “What are those big feelings racing through your eyes, mistress?” His fingers stroke my hair. “Tell me everyth—”
I cover his stupid mouth with my stupid mouth.
His teasing in my hair solidifies. His fingers scrape my scalp as I take what I want, soak in his warmth, soak in his…
A soft sound leaves me, and that makes me remember that I’m being anidiot, and emotionally unavailable people shouldn’tdothings like this. Finding every last ounce of my strength, I pull back.
But he follows me.
In the second of air I impose between us, he cusses, then he reclaims, then his tongue—
A muffled whine of desperation pours forth from my chest. I loosen my grasp on his shirt as the heady chemicals flood my senses. My palms flatten against him, against his broad shoulders, and I teeter forward, closer,closer.
He lies back, and I find myself indulging in the comforting sensation of his hard body beneath me, his firm planes against my curves. Hishandsfind my curves, and he’s violent about it—fingers burying in my sides, digging,dredging.
I pull his hair.
He groans, pleads,shudders.
My breaths shorten, and Ineedair, so I break the connection.
He whimpers.
I travel, exploring the taste of his jaw, hisneck.
Head thrust back to give me all the space I want, he swallows; I kiss his Adam’s apple, listen to him swear. And swear. Andswear.
“No.” He can barely breathe. “Mistress…Morana…”
