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Before Walker had become Mr. Fancy-Pants Businessman, he’d loved a good old-fashioned challenge.
I used to be able to rile him up so easily. Just a few pokes, a few pushes in the right direction, and I’d get to watch the alpha male in him rise to the surface. The only difference between then and now was that I knew there were other, more enjoyable ways to push a man.
Maybe it was the nostalgia that swept over me for those fun, easy days. Maybe it was the fact that Walker pushed my buttons too, whether I wanted to admit it or not. But whatever the reason, instead of doing what he wanted, I flashed a cherry-sweet smile and shook my head.
“Nah. You know what, I don’t think I will.” I chuckled. “You need to loosen up, Walker. You’ve gotten too uptight over the years.”
It was exhilarating, watching his gaze bore into me as I pushed away from the kitchen island to walk to the fridge. He was like a predator keeping his eye on a piece of non-cooperative prey.
Slowly, challengingly, I gave him a haughty look as I drew more paint across the stainless steel surface of the fridge.
“There. So pretty, don’t you think? What are you going to do about it, Walker?”
I barely even saw him move. He was a big man, but fast. One moment I saw the flash in his eyes, and the next he had my back pressed to the fridge and his lips on mine. A growl vibrated in his chest and my lips parted without thought as Walker pinned me against the fridge and stole my breath away in seconds.
This kiss was like coming home.
Except the home had learned a few new tricks in the last seven years.
Walker had always been able to light me on fire with a single touch, but everything about him was stronger, more powerful, more dominating now. His tongue stroked against mine in a way that made my knees weak, and I wrapped my arms around him as I sagged against the metal door of the fridge.
“God, Macks,” he growled into my mouth, pressing his large body into mine. I could feel his hardening cock against my stomach, and my clit throbbed with an answering need.
He kissed me like a starving man, angling his head to take it even deeper as his hands roamed the curves of my body. He was probably smearing the still-wet paint droplets that had spattered my tank top and shorts, but his worries about keeping things clean seemed to have evaporated.
When his fingertips slipped under the edge of my tank, sliding up the expanse of my stomach, I arched into his touch, needing more.
Breathing hard, he tore his mouth away from mine just long enough to peel the tank top up and over my head. Then he stopped, frozen. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he stared at me. I was still wearing a black bra and my cut-off shorts, but under Walker’s intense gaze, I felt like I was bared already. Like he could see through my skin straight down to my soul, where truths even I wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet lurked in my heart.
I didn’t want him to see. Didn’t want him to know.
So I kissed him again, pressing away from the fridge and wrapping my arms around his neck, hooking my leg around his ass. He staggered backward slightly under my assault, probably surprised I’d suddenly become the aggressor, but he responded with the same hunger I felt. His hands slid over my ass, hooking my thighs and lifting me against him.
“Walker…” I breathed into his mouth, wrapping both my legs around his waist. My fingers threaded through his hair as I tipped my head back, and his lips worshipped the skin of my neck. I shivered, every nerve ending in my body lighting up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Ever since I’d moved in with him, I’d been trying to ignore how damn good my new husband looked in his perfectly tailored suits, but now, all I wanted was to see that damn suit crumpled up on the floor. There were too many layers of clothes between us.
Walker must’ve thought so too because, without taking his lips away from my skin, he turned and carried me toward the large marble-topped island in the middle of the kitchen. He perched my ass on it, and the second I was settled, we both started tearing at each other’s clothes, like it was a race to see who could get the other person naked first.
I lost. Big time.
I’d managed to tug Walker’s tie off and was about to rip his shirt open down the middle, buttons be damned, when he popped the button on my shorts, slid the zipper down, and slipped his hand inside.
He cupped my wet, aching sex, and all my brain cells temporarily shorted out. When he slid a large finger inside me, a needy cry fell from my lips. I still wanted his damn shirt off—all his clothes off—but I couldn’t focus on a damn thing except the feel of him where I needed him most.
It’d been an embarrassingly long time since I’d had sex, and this wasn’t just any man. It was Walker Prince. I was on the verge of coming already, and my face flushed with a mixture of desire and awkwardness as I wriggled my ass on the counter, desperate for more of his touch.
A cocky, hungry grin spread across his face, and he went for the gold in our clothes removal contest, using one hand to work my shorts and panties down my hips and off my legs while his other continued to work my pussy. He added a finger, sliding in and out of me in slow strokes while his thumb circled my clit, bringing me right up to the edge without letting me go over.
“Walker Prince,” I panted, nearly cross-eyed with need. “Goddamn you.”
He chuckled darkly, then pressed me back, lowering me to rest on my elbows with my ass still perched at the edge of the counter. His eyes were filled with a million promises I hoped like hell he’d keep as he raked his gaze over my body again. I could see the outline of his rock hard cock in his suit pants, and my mouth practically watered.
“You always were a sweet talker, Mackenzie Henson,” he murmured teasingly, before lowering his head to flick a tongue over my nipple.
I gasped, arching toward him. If I hadn’t been using my arms to hold myself up, I would’ve grabbed his head and clung to it like a lifeline. Instead, I watched his cobalt blue gaze flash up to mine as he switched to my other breast, flicking and teasing the nipple with the tip of his tongue.
Jesus. He really might be trying to kill me. Was this my punishment for getting paint on the floor?
