Page 55 of Have To Be Mine

But kissing Dash Blackwell and then following him into his hotel room? That might have been the most reckless thing I’d ever done.

The door was barely closed when he practically pounced on me. His mouth slammed against mine with such force it nearly knocked me off my feet. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep myself upright. He walked me backward until my shoulders hit the wall.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my lips.

I couldn’t form words. My brain had short-circuited somewhere between the elevator and this moment. All I could do was feel. His hands were in my hair, pulling it free from the ponytail. My hair tumbled down around my shoulders. He groaned like it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. I rarely let my hair down.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said.

His fingers threaded through the strands, tugging gently. I sighed with the relief of my hair being released and the pleasure of his fingers sending shivers through me. When had I become this person? This woman who made desperate noises while a man kissed her senseless?

I tugged at his shirt, needing it off. I wanted my hands on all that bare skin. I’d been fantasizing about touching him since Athens. He pulled back just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it somewhere behind him. And there it was. That ridiculous, sculpted chest that was too good to be true. I ran my hands over it, feeling the hard planes, the heat of his skin. His muscles rippled as he sucked in a breath.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice rough.

My fingers went to the hem of my tank top. I hesitated for just a second. This was it. The point of no return. Once I took this off, there was no pretending this was just a kiss that got out of hand.

Dash’s hands covered mine. “We can stop,” he said quietly. “If you want.”

I didn’t want to stop. I wanted this more than I’d wanted anything in years. I pulled my tank top off and dropped it on the floor next to his shirt.

I watched his eyes travel down, taking in the plain white cotton bra I was wearing. It was practical. Unsexy. The kind of thing you wore when you weren’t expecting anyone to see it. I felt a flash of embarrassment. The bra was utilitarian. It kept my breasts supported without all the frilly lace and satin.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“It’s bad. I know.”

“No way. You’re beautiful.”

The way he said it, with such raw honesty, made me believe him. No one had called me beautiful in years. Hell, no one had seen me in my underwear in years.

He kissed me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands moved to my waist, sliding up my sides, making me shiver. I fumbled with the button on his pants, my fingers clumsy with need. He helped me, unfastening it and pushing his pants down. They pooled at his ankles before he kicked his shoes off and kicked the pants away.

We stumbled toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. I pushed him down onto the mattress. He pulled me with him. I landed on top of him, straddling his hips, and felt exactly how much he wanted this. How much he wanted me.

“Fuck,” he groaned again.

I kissed him, taking control, setting the pace. This was familiar territory. Being in charge. Making the decisions. I knew how to do this.

His hands moved to my hips, then slid up my back to the clasp of my boring bra. He paused, giving me a chance to stop him. I didn’t. He unhooked it. I sat back, letting it fall away, suddenly hyperaware that I was topless in front of Dash Blackwell.

The look on his face made every insecurity I’d ever had evaporate.

“You’re staring,” I said.

“It would be rude not to.” He sat up and wrapped his arms around my waist. Then he kissed my collarbone and up to my neck before sliding his tongue lower. When his mouth found my breast, I gasped. My hands went to his hair, holding him there, not wanting him to stop. Ever.

But then his hands were on my hips, and he was rolling us over, reversing our positions. Suddenly he was on top, looking down at me with dark eyes full of intent.

“My turn,” he said.

My body tensed. Giving up control wasn’t something I did. Ever. In any situation. I needed to be the one calling the shots, the one in charge. It was how I survived.

Dash must have felt my hesitation because he paused. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t do this.”

“Have sex? Oh my God, is this your first time?”