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A crease appears between her eyebrows. "That was a figure of speech."
"Or a Freudian slip."
"Or a slip of the tongue." She trails her finger around the rim of her champagne glass, and my balls tighten. Goddamn! Now she’s teasing me, while she still continues to deny the attraction. Every little action of hers is calculated to tease me. She has the way of a seductress, a siren song on her lips, and the look of a huntress in her eyes. She’s unharnessed, unbridled, a wildling come to turn my world upside-down. An untamed vixen who’ll steal my heart and my soul, and whose name will be stamped into every cell of my body.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Something like a forewarning ripples up my spine. Get away from her. Leave. Get out as soon as you can, before things get too complicated.
A-n-d the very fact that I have that thought, that for the first time in my life, I, Hunter Whittington, am thinking of leaving the battlefield without even trying to engage with my opponent, gives me pause. I’m not a coward. It takes balls to embark on a career in the public eye. It takes nerves of steel to decide to run for the highest office in this country. It takes courage of conviction and a special kind of crazy to embark on the journey I have. And I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t love a challenge. If I didn’t relish the opportunity to win a confrontation. If I didn’t enjoy finding my way through obstacles. All of which she seems to personify. I drag my finger across my lower lip.
"I’d love to slip my tongue inside you," I murmur.
Her gaze widens. A pulse throbs to life at the base of her neck. She bites down on her lower lip, and I feel the tug all the way to the base of my cock.
I tighten my grip about my own glass of champagne. "You liked that, didn’t you?"
She huffs. "I expected better than a cliché from you."
"Clichés exist because they’re true."
"And I thought you were capable of more original thinking?"
"You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now."
She holds my gaze boldly. "Why don’t you tell me?"
I release the hold on my flute, then lean forward and slide her glass from her grasp. I turn it to where the mark of her lips graces the rim and take a sip of the sparkling wine. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
Her lips part, then she raises one brow. "Try me."
"I want to touch your curves and fondle the dips in your body. I want to hold you and kiss you and bite you and suck on you. I want to lick you, taste you, sink my fingers inside you. I want to take you to the edge over and over again, until your blood is coursing with pheromones; until you’re so high from the experience, you’ll be spoiled for anyone else; until all you can think of is me, all you can taste is me; until your every breath belongs to me; until" —I place my hand over hers— "I bring you to your knees and have you begging me to show you every depraved thing I can do to you; until I bring every secret, perverted dream of yours to life; until you’re begging me to show you just how far I can push you; until you surprise even yourself."
Her breath hitches.
"I want to arouse you to the point you have no other thoughts but how it will be to have my cock buried in your pussy, my fingers in your arse, my tongue in your mouth, and how I’ll take you to the edge until you beg me to come and even then, I won’t let you—"
"Unless?" she breathes.
"Unless you submit to me."
3
Zara
His words are filthy and explicit, obscene and so damn hot. I shouldn’t find them so hot. I shouldn’t find his lack of filter in outlining exactly what he wants to do to me such a turn on. But it is. I enjoy sex. I enjoy men. I enjoy how it feels when my body is treated like it was made for another’s pleasure. I want to find out how it feels to be dominated. But I’ll never let anyone close enough for that. I’ve never trusted a man enough to let him set the agenda in bed.
It’s why my persona is that of a confident woman who’s aware of her sexuality and of the effect she has on men, most of whom are threatened by how I come across. A powerful career woman. It’s why the kind of men I attract are more than happy for me to set the agenda in bed. It’s something I both hate and relish, for then, I’m in control. And if I’m in control, I can’t be threatened. It’s what I’m comfortable with, and perhaps, it’s why I prefer to bed the kind of men I can hold sway over.
This man, though, is nothing like anyone I’ve faced before. Not in my work life, and not in my personal life. He’s not threatened by me, and each time I challenge him, it seems to make him determined to confront me right back. And it’s invigorating, to say the least. It’s also annoying. Because I don’t want to like anything about this man. But the very fact that he can look me in the eye and lay out what he wants to do to me is exhilarating, but also makes me want to defy him. The hair on my forearms rises. My guts clench, and that’s only because I’m angry with him. That’s all it is.
"Submit to you, huh? If you think I’m going to give in to you, you can think again."
He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then smirks. The jerkface curls his lips. "Is that a challenge?"
Oh, I’m so not walking into that one."I don’t care how you take it. This conversation is over." I jump to my feet and snatch my handbag.
I turn to leave when— "So this is what happens when you come up against your match? You pivot and run?" he drawls.
I draw in a breath.I will not lose my temper. Will not lose my temper.I take another step forward, when he speaks again.
