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He flexed his hips once, pressing himself against her core. He grunted but then he pushed himself off her and she moaned. “I know, kitten, but I want to play with you for a bit.”
Play? She understood soon enough when he knelt over her, trapping her legs beneath him. It gave him more balance, better leverage, but not enough body contact for her. Not nearly enough. Then he put his hand on her stomach and she stopped worrying about what he wasn’t doing and concentrated on what he was doing.
“Love the way you look in this sweater, like a naughty elf. It’s so soft,” he murmured. “It’s been killing me all day. I brushed up against it when I hugged you at the station, and I wondered if your skin felt as good as it did. I figured it must. Then when you took your jacket off, I saw it barely met the top of your jeans. I swear it was an accident when I brushed your back. If I’d known how smooth and warm your skin would be, I wouldn’t have touched you. The thought of it has been torturing me all day. And now, here you are, in my home stretched out before me like a holiday feast.”
Oh, God. He had one hell of a way with words and, though it sounded like he wanted to touch her, he hadn’t moved his hand yet. Her stomach quivered.
He slid his hand to the side and leaned forward, rubbing his face against the sweater over her stomach, like a cat. “Mmm, yes. Soft sweater. But that’s not what I want to feel. Not really.” He locked eyes with her then grabbed the edge of the sweater in his teeth and, with a little help from his hand, tugged it up so her stomach was bare.
As he drew it up her body, the whiskers on his chin lightly abraded her skin, and she shuddered. “Jeremy, please,” she begged, her eyes still locked with his, but she wasn’t sure what she was begging for, exactly. Back off? No, not that. More. Definitely more.
“Don’t mind if I do.” A devilish grin lit his face and he drew a finger over her skin, sometimes using the pad of it, sometimes the nail, scratching her lightly. “Feel good?”
“Oh, God, yes. Please don’t stop.”
“How about this instead?” He dropped his head and licked her, drawing his tongue across her skin, dipping into her belly button. The muscles in her stomach trembled, and he laughed. He pushed the edge of her jeans down just enough to bare the top of her hip bone, sucking at the silky skin there, following it with a nip from his teeth that made her arch her back. “I guess so.”
He continued to tease her, to torture her with his velvet tongue, never moving away from her bared stomach. Her hands clenched and unclenched against the arm of his sofa, and she rubbed her legs together, trying to ease the ache inside. He caught her movement, though, and to her utter shock, he grinned wickedly then slapped her hip, hard enough to make it sting. “None of that, bad girl.”
She froze, but she wasn’t sure if it was because he’d hit her, or because the rush of heat that followed the stinging sensation made her core ache even more.
He must’ve felt her tense, because he stopped dead, his face paling. “Oh, Christ. I, um...shit.” He started to push away.
“No, wait. I want...” Her begging words drifted off and she licked her lips, trying to make the jumble of thoughts in her head clear. “I need...” She paused again, shook her head, but she still couldn’t make sense of it. “Jeremy?”
He sat back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair. “I think it’s time for us to talk.”
What? No. She wanted to scream, but he pulled her to sitting and tucked her close, his strong arms locked around her. To her surprise, her panic started to ebb in his tight embrace, although she was unable to prevent the rush of words from her mouth. “You hit me. But it felt... Why did you stop?”
She felt his sigh. “There are things about me you don’t know, things we need to discuss before we go any further. Things that will help put what I did, and why I stopped, into perspective.” He kissed the top of her head and drew her closer. “And we need to talk about you and Sam, too.”
She went rigid at the mention of her ex-husband’s name, then leaned back and scowled at Jeremy. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
He kissed her nose even as he rubbed gently along her back. “I know, kitten, but I need to. You mean a lot to me, and I need to know what happened so I know whether I should hurt him or thank him.”
Kitten? He’d called her that twice now, and the playful nickname made her feel warm inside, as did his admission, but she still wasn’t sure what to think about what he’d done, and she definitely wasn’t happy about discussing Sam. Some wounds were still too raw. Might always be too raw. “Fine.”
In spite of her confusion, she allowed him to guide her head back against his chest. He smelled like man and musk and a woodsy undertone that was probably his soap, but she liked it. He was wrapped around her, and if she were honest with herself, she felt comforted and oddly safe there in his embrace. Jeremy was a big guy, all muscle, and strong, but gentle in his strength. The careful way he held her was proof of that. On the other hand, while there’d been no anger or malice in the swat he’d given her, and his voice had been low and sexy and teasing, he’d still hit her.
She tensed again and he knew that, too, because his arms shifted and he pulled her even closer. His touch calmed her body, but her mind was another story.
The only difference between what Jeremy had done to her and what Sam had done to her was how each made her feel, but in reality, wasn’t it the same thing?
* * *
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d slipped up like that, falling into Dom behavior without conscious thought, without consent. Her husband had hit her in anger, which had to be on her mind, and dammit, he knew better. It was achingly obvious Becca was bothered by his words and actions. Without context, why wouldn’t she be? In his previous relationships, that playful slap would’ve been the prelude to much deeper, darker pleasures. But Becca didn’t know the game, so her confusion was genuine—and completely warranted.
Time to back up, back off and do some damage control. His body balked. Her skin was so soft, her scent so potent. Hell, that taste of her had been a mere sip to a dying man, and he’d been thirsty for years.
But first things first.
“You offered dinner earlier. Is the offer still open?”
She wrenched herself out of his arms and stood, watching him. Usually her eyes danced with excitement or laughter, but right now, they were slightly unfocused and wary. He kept his face neutral, and finally she nodded.
“I’ve had beef stew going in the slow cooker all day, so it should be ready. It’s not a traditional Christmas feast with ham and all the trimmings, but...”
His mouth watered at the thought. “I’m not big into ham. Stew, on the other hand, is probably my favorite meal of all time.” His stomach grumbled in agreement and he felt himself flush. “As you can tell.”
