Page 35 of Body Check

“Amelia…”

When I cup his erection, it throbs in my grip, his pulse fluttering in his neck. I squeeze gently, the hard, thick length so wonderfully reactive.

He surges upright. Before I can so much as blink, McKittrick’s hand is on my throat, pulling me toward him. His lips descend on mine, licking into my mouth, like he’s as desperate for this as me. With his grip on my throat, he can feel every breath I take, the rapid-fire thundering of my pulse.

His hand lands on my hip, pulling me into the V of his legs, and then slips around to my ass, squeezing the rounded flesh. I set mine on his thighs, pushing them apart, and then slide my hand back to his erection, palming the thick length. He fills my fist so beautifully.

McKittrick groans into the kiss, his tongue stroking mine.

“This is a bad idea,” he breathes.

“So stop,” I counter.

His dark chuckle vibrates against my lips. “Take off your pants.”

Rearing back, I search his eyes. I must have misheard him.

“Take off your fucking pants, Amelia,” he says roughly, his hand resting on the column of my throat.

But he doesn’t exert any pressure.

It’s entirely up to me. I could stop this at any time. But I don’t want to stop it. We’ve been heading for this ever since that very first time. It’s always been inevitable.

And I can’t fucking wait another second.

I take a step back, and he releases me. Heaving in a breath, my fingers fumble with the button on my jeans. His eyes pin me to the spot.

Slowly, I work the denim over my hips. He nods at me, his eyes dark, and I step out of the jeans, dropping them on the counter behind me.

“Panties, too,” he growls.

“Or what?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Little girl…”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown ass woman.”

“You’re ten years younger than me.”

“So? If you want to find someone young and naïve to play with, go ahead. But it won’t be me.”

Quick as lightning, his fingers hook in the front of my panties, pulling the elastic band down to expose the top of my mound. His wrist twists, and then he’s sliding three fingers between my legs, gliding through the wetness there.

“You sure about that?”

I widen my stance to give him more access. “If you want to play, it’ll be with me, not some innocent little virgin who⁠—”

My words cut off when he thrusts two fingers inside me. My walls flutter around the intrusion, so fucking full.

“You’re right,” he growls. “You’re not innocent, not in the slightest. Not with the shows you give me.”

Victorious, I grin. “You like them?”

His fingers withdraw, and then fuck into me a few times, each thrust leaving me wanting more.

“Fucking hate them,” he says, slamming his mouth over mine. His kiss is ruthless, wrenching the breath from my lungs.

He hates them? But he watches every one.