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“Again, it’s assertiveness, not arrogance, sweetheart. Want to test it?”
“Test what?”
I step forward, murdering whatever space that separates us. Instead of moving backward like any woman in this position would, she stands her ground. So I slowly push her back until I trap her between my chest and the bar counter. My hands rest on the dark wooden surface on either side of her, and for a moment, the noises surrounding us vanish.
All that remains is a faint buzzing in my ears and the controlled sound of our mingled breathing.
Her eyes never leave mine, too bright with challenge and unsaid words and killer tension that should only belong in wars.
She’d be a hellion general with the mere purpose of beheading the king.
Too bad for her, this particular king has a different approach to headstrong warlords.
My face lowers and I relish in how she watches me carefully, albeit with heat. “I will kiss you and if you show no reaction, I’ll back off, return your boring space, and even get out of your hair about Gwen.”
Her lips part before she seals them shut. “What if…I do show a reaction?”
“The ball will be in my court and I’ll use it to strip that bitch persona away, then eventually fuck you.” I remove a hand from the counter and slide it from the slender curve of her waist to her hip.
Despite her big personality, she’s so small in my hold, so fragile and breakable, and that shouldn’t give my dick more ideas to get harder.
My fingers dig into her flesh, and although a piece of clothing separates us, her heat collides with mine as if we’re dancing around a fire. One that’s wild as fuck with the mere purpose of burning the earth and touching the sky.
And then something happens.
She squirms—or trembles—I have no clue which. And it’s a sight to behold because Aspen isn’t usually the type who shakes.
She’s the type who shakes others.
I lower my head farther with the intention of feasting on her lips and biting them until either I make her bleed or she does. The thought of her fight gets my dick in “I want to fuck” mode and that’s a fucking first.
But I don’t think about that as her reaction escalates from surprise to feral desire that collides with mine. Blotches of red appear on her face, bleeding from her neck like lava.
Her lips purse and she bunches her fingers in my dress shirt. “Don’t.”
“Afraid of a little challenge, sweetheart? Didn’t take you for a quitter.” My voice is so low and close to her cheek that she blinks slowly, her nostrils flaring.
My lips nearly skim the dusting of freckles underneath her eyes. They’re like stars in an island’s night sky, so small and bright, and give her an edge sharper than her high cheekbones.
I don’t deny myself a taste and dart my tongue, licking them as if they’re dessert.
She tastes like exotic fruit and the purest patchouli. Not exactly sweet, but it’s as intoxicating, earthy, and spicy as the woman herself.
She smells of that, too. Patchouli. A scent that’s as rare as she is and just as strong.
Aspen shudders, her brown nails digging in my chest. “Kingsley…”
She stills and I pause, but I don’t take my tongue off her cheek.
And the reason is that she just moaned my name, like a chant, a prayer, or something in between. I don’t give a fuck, because she just gave me the “all-access” card, and I intend to make use of it.
My lips slide down, leaving a wet trail on her face. I nibble on her cheek, then lick the assaulted place as I continue my way to her mouth.
And just when I’m about to devour her lips for lunch, my phone vibrates between us.
She startles, and I curse under my breath.
Even though I intend to ignore the call and go back to eating Aspen, she’s the one who pushes me away, both of her elegant palms flattening on my pectoral muscles.
