Page 44 of The Encore’s Crown

“Fuck.” The word escapes in a muted hiss.

There’s satisfaction in her face when she feels how badly I want her, proof that I didn't change my mind while we slept. As if that was ever a possibility. She bites her bottom lip at the contact as she palms me in her hand, teasing.

“You want this too,” she whispers into the curve of my neck. I close my eyes. Her mouth trails lazily to the corner of mine. My hand slides into her hair, holding her there.

“Yeah,” I admit, against her lips. “I do. I want you.”

Then she presses closer. Her body moves on instinct, seeking the pressure of my thigh between hers. A needy sound catches in her throat when she finds it, and I go still. Because I want this, her, too fucking much. She rolls her hips against me, chasing the friction. Her forehead drops to my shoulder, breath warming my neck. My fingers flex in her hair. She does it again and the sound she makes this time is louder, more honest.

“Nat, look at me.” I cradle her chin and lift it gently until she does.

Her eyes are dark, lashes heavy, cheeks flushed. She looks embarrassed by how openly her body is responding but she's too desperate to stop. Something in me knows if she keeps looking at me like that, moving against me like she wants me to take her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hit the brakes, and she clearly doesn’t want me to.

Not right now, anyway, but right now is the problem.

She’s still reaching for me because she wants out of her own head, because she needs something strong enough to drown everything else out. Tomorrow, the grief will still be there. The alcohol in her system will be long gone, and I know that this feeling won't just go away, no matter what we do tonight.

What if we do this and then she looks at me differently? I don’t think I could survive her looking at me like a mistake, so the words come out even if my dick throbs in protest.

“This isn’t how I want this to happen.”

“Shut up and touch me, Kiri.”

Something primal wakes up at the sound of my name in her mouth. Fine, I’ll touch her. I’ll give her enough to burn through what she’s trying to outrun tonight. I'll let her believe it, let her chase it. But I won’t take everything she’s offering.

She doesn’t understand the shape of my plan when I kiss her hard enough to steal the next demand from her lips. Her hands clutch at me, pulling me closer like she still thinks this ends with me giving in completely. I kiss her temple, then the space beneath her ear. I press my mouth to the same place again, slower this time and her head tips back. I trace the line of her throat, feeling every swallow beneath my lips. A frantic rhythm jumps beneath her skin when my teeth graze her, and the hand at the back of my neck tightens.

I kiss the hollow at the base of her throat, then her collarbone. The warm skin revealed where the neckline of her dress has slipped. Her breathing grows uneven as my hand follows the path of my mouth, tracing her shoulder before moving down her side. I feel the faint tremor that runs through her when my thumb brushes the curve beneath her breast. Her body leans into my hand before she can pretend otherwise. I cup her through the thin fabric, feeling the instant change in her breathing. I move my thumb slowly over the swell of her breast, then gently brush the raised tip of her nipple.

The next sweep draws a soft moan from her, and the sound travels through my body like a live wire. I kiss her again before she can swallow it, I can feel her losing herself a little more with every pass of my thumb. She arches into my touch, hips moving against my thigh again, but this time I give back the pressure she’s been searching for. She breaks the kiss with a gasp and her nails dig into my shoulder. I slide my hand down the length of her body, over her waist and hip, following the line of her thigh. The fabric between us is thin enough that I can feel the heat of her through it.

She goes still in anticipation. I move the fabric aside and my own breath leaves me at the first touch of her heat. My fingers slide against her gently as her moan breaks against my throat. The realization of how ready she is, of how long her body has been asking for me while I tried to convince myself we could keep pretending, sends a violent rush of desire through me.

“Is this how you get every time you think about me?”

Her fingers tighten in my hair. The words embarrass her and excite her at the same time, I can see both reactions move across her face. I touch her slowly, taking my time. Her body answers, hips tipping toward my hand. I repeat the motion. The sound she makes is louder this time, wilder. I kiss her as my fingers continue their exploration, learning which movements make her breath hitch and which make her press closer. She tries to stay quiet at first, biting the inside of her lip whenever a sound rises.

A shiver moves through her when I change the pressure and her moan comes out broken and helpless. Every nerve in my body catches fire. She buries her face against my neck, as the rhythm begins to build between us, my hand moving with her, her body seeking mine. Each small adjustment drawing another reaction from her until both of us are breathing hard. She twists her fingers into the back of my shirt, clutching me like she needs something solid while the tension gathers inside her.

Her hips press into my hand when I tease her; my fingers passing her entrance again in favor of prolonging the sensation. She makes an exasperated sound, the sexiest pout I've ever heard in my life.

“You're driving me crazy.”

“Some things are better… when you wait for them.”

She glares at me, breathless and offended. “I’m trying to come.”

A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. She groans, throwing her impatient head against the pillow.

“And,” I murmur near her ear, “I'm trying to listen, to learn about you.”

Her eyes track me, watching my face. My lips part, a mirror of her pleasure as I move my fingers just enough to pull another broken sound from her. She bites my shoulder in frustrated retaliation. It turns me on far more than it hurts. An automatic response in Khmer escapes.

“Koun krapeu. (Baby crocodile)” I mutter as I gently nip her nose, mimicking the attack.

“That’s what you get.”

“Violent woman. A crocodile in your past life.”