Page 109 of Top Shelf

“Let me worry about that,” I tell him, staring up at him with a soft, relaxed, open expression that conveys I’m going nowhere. That I’m not afraid of him.

He stands frozen. Trembling. Still fighting it. Still ready to run.

So I do the only thing I can think of.

I do what he once did to me that helped me see the light.

I step into him, grab his face in my hands, and I kiss him.

He stills instantly.

His lips are initially firm and unforgiving beneath mine, his entire body strung tight like a bow.

I run my tongue along the seam of his mouth. Coaxing. Encouraging.

Come on, let me in, I plead silently with him.

It takes a moment, but then, like a wall giving way bit-by-bit, he crumbles.

His body bows over mine, his lips part to grant me entry, and his hands lift to grasp my sides like he’s in desperate need of something real to keep him from slipping beneath the waves.

He surges forward. Into me. Around me. Over me. I give him all of me, and he takes it. Consumes me like a dying man in need of water. His hands run up my sides, then around my back, before moving down and over my ass.

Grasping the backs of my thighs, he hauls me into him before lifting me off the ground. My legs wrap around his trim waist as we move deeper into the apartment.

He lowers me onto the sofa, bracing his knees on either side of my hips as he shifts to hover over me, never once letting up on the assault on my mouth.

I give back as good as I get, burning alive in the fire that is Lucian Caulfield.

My skin sizzles at his touch, my nerves alight with a need so profound that I feel as though I’m going to combust if I’m not satiated.

I arch into him, pressing my straining breasts against his shirt and dragging my crotch along the bulge in his jeans. My hands roam everywhere they can touch before moving to tug at his top.

He breaks away only long enough so I can pull it over his head, before capturing my lips again in a heated kiss. Every swipe of his tongue is driven by hunger, by need, by the desire to lose himself in something other than his pain.

It’s not until I reach for the button of his jeans that he stalls. Pulling back, anguish sweeps over his face as he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he rasps, sounding pained. “I can’t use you like this.”

Moving instead to grasp his face, I force him to meet my gaze.

“You’re not using me for anything,” I tell him honestly. “I want you. I want you so bad that I’ve been in a constant state of discomfort ever since we playedTwister.”

His lips twitch at that.

I thump him playfully in the chest. “You laugh, but I wore out the batteries in my vibrator, and it still didn’t hit the spot.”

“Baby,” he purrs. “All you had to do was ask, and we’d have given you what you needed.”

Staring into his eyes, I say, “Well, I’m asking now. So there’s only one question left to answer: do you want me too?”

“Fuck, Wren, I’ve wanted you since I first set eyes on you at the rink, in your skintight skirt and sexy heels.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “And every day since, I’ve only wanted you more. Witnessing your fire. Your strength… How could anyonenotwant you?”

Not needing to hear any more, I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him down to me.

No more words are spoken as he strips me of my clothes. I finally get his pants off him, and I’m panting heavily as he moves down my front, running his tongue between the valley of my breasts while using his fingers to play with my nipples.

“Your body is fucking sinful,” he says in awe, shifting onto his knees as he moves lower, kissing along my hip bones, then over my belly button, before shifting to my pelvis.

I squirm, wet and needy for his touch. My chest is stained red, my breathing nothing but short, shallow pants as I mentally encourage him lower.