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“You think I wouldn’t want to have sex with you?”
There’s no doubt we’re attracted to each other.
That we want each other.
I shrug, struggling to answer him without a shaky voice. “You’ve never seemed interested in my advances, and it’d make our relationship … complicated. It could ruin it, and I never want that to happen.” I sigh. “You don’t do relationships, and I’m not sure I can have sex and not want more.”
The smirk hasn’t left his face. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.”
He circles the island, invading my space, and stops a few steps away. “Interesting.”
“What doesinterestingmean?” I blow out a long breath, my face flushing. “See! I’ve made it awkward now! Exactly what I didn’t want!” I’d love to have his lips on mine again, to feel his body pressed against mine, but it’s not worth losing him.
I gasp when he wipes out the space separating us, captures my waist with his strong hands, and tugs me into him. I lose a breath when the erection straining against his jeans rubs against my core.
He cradles my face in his hands. “I can’t believe you’d doubt me wanting you.”
And his mouth meets mine.
17
Maliki
Sierra tastes fucking sweet.
Sweet but not as innocent as I imagined.
Spending time with her today was incredible.
She met my friends. They loved her. She loved them. Maybe she does fit in my world.
I kiss her roughly, lacking the restraint I should have but don’t.
We’ve delayed this for too long.
She tastes like sweet chocolate and marshmallows when my tongue slips into her mouth, devouring her. My dick stirs when she moans into my mouth.
I’ve never been so turned on, just making out with a woman.
I need more.
My lips stay on hers while she stays pressed against the fridge. Goose bumps run up her skin when I turn her to rest her back against a wall. My hand nearly shakes when it eases up her tank. Her skin is soft, so damn soft.
“Maliki.” My name releases from her lips in a moan, and Jesus fuck, the things that does to me … to my dick.
I cup her breast, thrill rippling through me, and grind against her, rotating my hips.
As a mood killer, a reminder she’s married zips through me, urging my dick to calm down, but I shove the thought away.
Fuck that.
She’s mine.
Has been since the day her young ass walked into my bar, drinking a goddamn strawberry daiquiri.
“I need you,” she breathes out, attempting to wedge her hand between the tight space of our bodies.
