Page 98 of Drowning in Darkness

“You are so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you, but I can’t tear my eyes away,” he groans, skimming the cup of my bra.

“I want you to steal my breath and make me scream your name,” I tell him, the words mirroring what he thought was a threat.

“The fantasies in your head are rarely the reality.”

I tilt my head and unclip the front fastening on the bra. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He swallows as I bare myself to his gaze. He tenses, and my legs wrap around his waist, keeping him close.

“James, look at me.”

He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I want you. All of you. The real you. Every filthy desire. I want to come apart in your arms until I can’t think straight. I want you to push me until I’m certain I can’t take any more. Then I want you to prove me wrong. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

My hands drift lower, between the valley of my breasts, over my stomach, and finally skimming the saturated silk between my legs. “If you won’t touch me or give me what I need…” I uncurl my legs, put one heeled foot against his chest, and shove him into the chair behind him. My lips curl. “Then watch.”

THIRTY-THREE

JAMES

It’s too late to run.

Yet again, I need to walk away. And yet again, I’m powerless to do so.

I swipe a hand down my face, trying to break the damn spell she has over me. There’s a challenge in her gaze—to stay, to touch her, to watch, to walk away. Who the fuck knows? But there’s also vulnerability, innocence, and a budding confidence I’d be a monster to squash. I am a monster, but not that type. I’d never go out of my way to hurt this woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m good for her.

“Stop,” I plead. Accidentally finding her having a private moment in the shower is one thing, but this blatant display is enough to tempt a saint.

As established, I am no saint.

“No one is making you stay,” she breathes as she lies flat on the dining table and cups one of her breasts.

No matter which part of her I focus on, it’s making my pulse thrum beneath my skin.

She’s a siren. Raw beauty personified. I dare any red-blooded man not to be caught in her orbit when she’s like this.

My fingers twitch, my lips still tingling from our kiss.

Damn, she can kiss. It’s never been something I’ve rated, but then again, I’ve shied away from anything soft, romantic, or that which builds connection. I know how to use my body and my words to seduce, since I was trained by men who did it for a living. But true raw passion is not something I’ve felt until this moment, and I am wholly unprepared for it.

That’s her superpower... making me question everything I thought I knew about myself. She stirs something I thought long dead, if I ever felt it at all. She makes me long for connection, to know someone inside and out. To find out what makes them laugh, how many types of smiles they have, what their favorite food is, and how they enjoy their drinks.

It’s about roots, a future, and neither of those are on the cards for me. So I have no business even entertaining these thoughts. But maybe I can help a woman who is a survivor find her power and her confidence.

“James,” she groans low, refocusing me back on the way she arches her spine and how she plays with her breasts. She squirms as if she can’t quite get enough. I want to give her that. All of it. Every last thing she can imagine. But can I keep myself in check once I touch her?

“Stephanie, I can’t.”

Her fingers skim over the silk, damp with need, and I swear I can smell her desire from here. It’s in the air, daring me to let go.

“Then leave or watch, but I’m not stopping.”

There’s a challenge in her words. I have half a mind to bind her to this damn table so she can’t pleasure herself. But I think that’s an escalation neither of us needs to jump into.

Not yet.

Nope, not ever.