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“Instead of what?” His lips curve beneath the corner of the towel. “Why were you distracted?”
My heart is thumping uncomfortably. His leg presses against my thighs. I dab the towel and check his skin, brows drawing together at the sight of the little nick on his cheek. After everything he’s done for me, all I’ve managed to give him in return is a bleeding cut.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” I lie. “I’m sorry, Des. Is it sore?” I put the towel back on his cheek, finally meeting his gaze.
Those inky eyes suck me in, turning me to stone where I stand. He reaches up but instead of holding the towel to his cheek, he grasps my wrist in his warm hand and gently tugs it away. Then he spins the chair to face me, long legs framing mine, and uses his grip on my wrist to pull me closer.
In a daze, I follow his lead. I’m staring at his lips again, remembering how it felt to have them on mine. His body is so big and warm, so relaxed in this chair beside me. I find myself leaning over him, draping my chest against his, seeking his warmth, his strength.
What am I doing? Do I care?
Memories rush in from that evening in the parking lot. I remember how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms, and how easy it was to let go of all my worries and lose myself in him. Would it be so bad to give in to that urge once more?
If he isn’t the villain I thought he was, why am I resisting this attraction between us?
As if Des can sense me losing the fight against my own inhibitions, he grips my hair and angles my head, his other hand banded across my back—and kisses me.
Oh, I’ve missed this. I let out a moan as my hand slides up to touch his freshly shaved cheek, smooth and damp from my ministrations. I feel his jaw working as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue against mine. The noise he makes—a groan of pure male need—sends electric shivers buzzing through my veins.
I arch my body, pressing my breasts into his chest, needing more contact, more warmth, more of him. The arm clamped across my back shifts, his hand dipping down to the curve of my ass. He slides his fingers down the center seam of my jeans, until I feel the pressure of his hand against the very core of me, holding me tight to him.
I moan, kissing him harder, lost to this—to him. To the sensation of this complicated, infuriating man who told me he was addicted to me. The hardness behind his zipper tells me he was speaking the truth.
He’s hard—for me.
The thought turns everything liquid inside me. I melt in his arms, suddenly delirious. This manwantsme. Craves me. He touches me like he can’t help himself, like I’m the most desirable woman in the universe.
“Mia,” he growls. “You taste so fucking good.”
“You taste like shaving cream.” I sound dazed, dreamy.
He smiles against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip. His hand is still between my legs, squeezing in slow, rhythmic pulses that are quickly driving me mad. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this,” he says, running his lips down my neck, biting gently. “No idea what I’ve imagined doing to this beautiful body of yours.”
“Oh?”
It’s official—I’ve lost my mind. We haven’t even left Heart’s Cove, and I’m breaking my own rules. No kissing, I told him. No touching. No sex.
Ha! What an idiot I’ve been. Right now, all I want is to slide his zipper down and climb on top of him. It’s like a switch flipped inside me, and I’m desperate for it. Ten years of sexless routine calcified into a hard shell around me, but hairline fractures begin to appear. I’m allowed to want sex. I’m allowed to give in to baser needs. I’m allowed to be wanted.
Des untangles his hand from my hair and slides it down to my breast. He kneads it gently, pressing his mouth to my neck. His breath is hot against my skin, and when he speaks, his voice sends tremors racing through me. “When I saw you in your pajamas, I got so hard so fast, I thought I was going to pass out.” He pinches my nipple through the fabric of my shirt, groaning. “I could see the outline of your perfect tits, Mia. These beautiful breasts just begging for my mouth.”
He got hard at the sight of me in a hole-ridden, stained T-shirt. This man is as delusional as I am.
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” I trail off when he squeezes between my legs again, sending sparks shooting through my thighs. I gasp. Oh, my. It’s been ten years since a man touched me there. I’d forgotten how good it felt. There are layers of fabric between us, and he’s already making me lose my mind.
“We should,” he growls. “We definitely should. I have a feeling you need this as badly as I do.”
If only he knew. The chair creaks beneath us as I shift my weight, lifting my knee to hook around his hip. He grabs me around the waist and lifts me like I weigh nothing, bringing me up so I’m straddling his hips. I can feel him, hot and hard beneath me, right where I need him most.
All I need to do is just—
“Keep doing that, baby,” he grates, hands on my hips, helping me grind myself against him. The chair squeaks as I move over him, panting, my hands twisted into his shirt. There’s a little bead of dry blood on his cheek where I nicked him, speckles of shaving cream I missed wiping off. I fall forward onto his chest, hips bucking.
“Oh, fuck,” Des says, helping my movements with his hands clamped over my hips. “That’s it, girl. Ride my dick like you’ve always wanted to. Grind yourself on that cock until you come in those nice, lacy panties I know you like to wear.”
My eyes roll back in my head. I’m so close—so close. Just a little bit more friction. A little bit more of his hands gripped on my hips, the feel of his chest beneath mine, his breath coasting over my cheek—
The chair collapses with a mighty groan, and we both tumble through the air. Des manages to shield my head and the side of my body, taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder. I crash on his arm and side, then roll away from him onto the black-and-white checkered floor.
