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Ass. Technically he’s correct, but my brain doesn’t seem to give a damn about the logistics. I can feel the heat from his fingers—from his gaze. One more yank on the ribbon, and he forces me to stagger a step closer, our knees barely an inch apart.
“The fit seems well enough,” he says, continuing his observation. “And the fabric seems to be of a high caliber.” He fingers the hem with his free hand, lifting the lace away from my skin. “Apparently, you have quite the eye for lingerie, Ms. King.”
I grow dizzy, watching his fingers toy with the satin between them. Either he’s stronger than he knows, or he’s using more force than necessary on purpose. The shoulder straps strain. The section of fabric he holds captive slowly inches higher and higher.
“So do you, apparently,” I croak, attempting to bat his fingers away. He lets me, and I write off the pang in my stomach as relief. “Though I think I’ve won this little wager. You technically aren’twearinganything.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and every nerve I possess prickles in warning. “Well, if you say it, it must be true.” He slides his palm down his thigh, seizing the panties, and drags them down to his ankle before kicking them off.
I inhale sharply. “So does that mean you forfeit—”
“Let’s add another layer to this wager,” he says over me. His hands are on my waist, steering me closer before I can resist. “Just how practical is this garment? It barely seems capable of withstanding any… activity.”
I fight for air and bring my hand to his shoulder to brush him off. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t plan on putting it to the test with you—”
“Is that so?” His fingers flex, the nails digging in. “I guess that’s understandable. I wouldn’t want to ruin my own investment.”
“As if you could.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but the expression is all wrong. The amusement drains from his features and becomes something else. “Is that a dare, Ms. King?”
He braces his thumbs on either side of my stomach, and I know he can feel every nuance of my posture. Every shiver as his other fingers fan out along my spine, wrinkling the negligee and causing the dangerously-short hem to creep even higher.
“It’s not a dare,” I force myself to rasp while meeting his gaze—though I can’t seem to break his grip or pull away. My legs won’t obey the frantic commands my brain issues to them. “It’s not a dare if your opponent has no chance in hell of proving you wrong.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. He tugs me closer, his fingers finding the knot of the ribbon. One artful stroke, and it comes undone. I don’t even have time to gasp before he pulls the edges apart, revealing everything underneath. Everything.
I try to kick him, but his knees clamp together over my leg like a trap. Robbed of my balance, I trip forward and brace both hands against his shoulders. I smell the musky hint of his cologne and feel his heat, even as my lips spring apart. I intend to utter some statement about how he is an asshole, and how I wouldn’t react to him if he was the last man in the world.
But then he grabs my thigh. His fingers creep higher before I can form enough words to make him stop. One brush of his thumb against my skin… a second… and I come undone. “Undone” is the polite term to describe the sound that escapes my mouth and somehow gets uttered directly into his ear. How my nails dig in shamelessly while his free hand finds my ass beneath the flimsy fabric and squeezes. Then he slaps it.
I flinch in shock and feel his lips against my neck. “Merely an experiment to test how well this garment can withstand stress, Ms. King,” he grumbles against the skin there while the offending hand slides down to the back of my thigh and nudges my legs further apart. “This is merely research…”
Research.The slap I intend to give him is merely out of scientific curiosity as well—but he catches my hand before I can and uses it as a leash to yank me even closer. Just like that, I’m straddling Graeme Bellamy against the edge of his bed. My breasts are in his face. My only form of protection is a sheer strip of lace and satin that doesn’t seem to be holding up to the “stress” very well. Already, the straps are sliding down my arms. My shoulders shrug to make their descent easier…
Kissing him is merely an accident. His lips find mine and tease my lower lip. I open my mouth wider, intending to bite him, and he takes advantage of the potential assault by sliding his tongue against mine.
It’sjusta kiss at first. A wild, brutal, biting “kiss” that makes my senses melt and my body go haywire. I don’t mean to fist my hands in his hair, straddling him in earnest. The bastard falls back, positioning his hands on my waist so I follow, my body pressed against his. The damn negligee pools at my hips, and I only have enough mind to pull back and gasp, “This won’t go any further.”
The look in his eye is more curious than mocking. “Is that a dare, Ms. King?”
I drag my tongue along my lower lip. It already feels swollen. “Yes. I mean no—I mean…”
His fingers inch upward, toward my ribcage, stroking as they go, and I promptly lose my train of thought. It’s unfair how damn dexterous he is with those fingers. Considering that he was born with a silver spoon shoved down his throat, one might think he’d be so used to being catered to, he’d have no idea how to work with his hands. Or his mouth.
Said orifice nudges my throat, and I instinctively arch my throat in the opposite direction. Before I regain my senses, his breath fans along that exposed flesh, so damn warm I have to swallow a groan. Beneath me, I feel his chest flex, almost as if he just caught his breath, equally as overwhelmed by this moment as I am.
I’ve been alone for too damn long. Even the close proximity of a beautiful man goes straight to my head, and I do a dangerous thing. I lean forward and press my lips to his collarbone. One swipe of my tongue and I steal a taste of him—heady, masculine, musk. I’ve barely finished savoring him when he does the same to me—only with his teeth. I can’t even tell if the pressure borders on painful or not. All I feel is a jolt of electricity that arcs straight down to my clit. Mindless, I rock against the only firm surface in reach capable of soothing the ache—a firm, masculine thigh, the owner of which doesn’t seem to approve of the substitute.
He growls, seizing my hips between his palms. One firm yank brings my lower half in direct proximity with a part of him that provides much more relief than his limbs alone could. I’m already reaching down to swipe the flimsy fabric clinging to me aside just as he captures himself in a fist while snatching a condom from the nightstand with his free hand. Once sheathed, he guides me onto him, forcing eye contact with every sinful inch I take.
We go slow this time. So slow, the tension is incredible, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood just to keep from crying out. White-knuckled, I brace myself against his shoulders, moving my hips in time to match his unhurried thrusts. Before I realize it, our eyes meet, and the man beneath me doesn’t even resemble the callous, sometimes unfeeling bastard I’ve become accustomed to.
His eyes glow, fixated only on me. He doesn’t bother to remain silent, grunting with every thrust, his teeth clenched, throat cording. For once, he’s… vulnerable, too far gone to care about maintaining his suave persona.
This is a man I could get used to having taunt me into bed every night, and the thought scares the hell out of me. Luckily, before it can fully take hold, my ever-building orgasm reaches a tipping point. My head goes back as I feel him grip me tighter, coming undone at the exact same moment.
He doesn’t voice a single word, but somehow, I swear I hear his voice echoing in my skull, smug and satisfied—dare accepted.
