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Hot and heavy could be good, but I wanted to savor her. Do a couple of the things I’d fantasized about.
I threaded my fingers through her corn silk hair and broke the kiss. Her eyes were closed. She made a needy sound and tried to bring her mouth back to mine, but I tightened my grip on her hair, halting her.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. “Is something wrong?” Her gaze darted between my eyes.
“No. I’m just—” I started to say I was slowing things down, but she didn’t let me finish. Instead, she pushed at my chest, straining to get away.
I resisted for a few seconds, then let her go.
She took a stumbling step backward until her back hit the wall. A loud exhale escaped her lips. “You’re right. This is a bad idea.”
A harsh laugh tore from my throat. “No. It’s not. It’s a very good idea.”
She set her feet a little apart. A warrior’s stance, hands fisted at her sides. A pulse beat at the base of her soft, pretty throat.
A throat I literally ached to drink from—and if that made me a monster, then I was guilty as charged.
Her head tilted. She studied me. “You want this—me?”
“You have to ask?” I gestured to where my erection strained against the fly of my jeans.
She glanced down. “Oh.” The corner of her mouth edged up in a sassy little smile that was like an erotic lick up my spine.
I dragged off my shirt, because it was damn hot in here even this late at night, and eased my zipper open because my dick needed the space.
Her gaze tracked my movements. Her swallow was audible. Her mouth opened. Closed.
Triumph surged through me. She wanted me. And by the Dark Lady, I wanted her.
The beast was alive, but this was no longer about revenge or punishment or bending her to my will. Well, maybe it was about bending her to my will, at least in part.
Whatever. All I knew was that I wanted Ridley No-Last-Name with a blood-pounding, can’t-run-from-it craving.
“Like what you see?” I closed the space between us.
A faint flush tinged her cheeks. She nodded, swallowed again, the movement working the muscles of her throat. A movement that drew my gaze to her long, creamy neck.
Without my willing it, my hand reached out.
Her eyes widened but she held her ground. I touched her throat. Her heartbeat leapt in response, and she shuddered.
I stroked a fingertip over her throbbing pulse, then continued down her silky flesh. Tracing her collarbones, one at a time, then moving lower to the upper curve of her breast beneath the plain gray athletic bra.
That plain, utilitarian undergarment was so Ridley, I almost smiled, but I knew she’d misunderstand. The bra—so different from the sexy underthings most of my women went for—sent tenderness curling through me.
No. Not tenderness.
This is fucking. Nothing else.
I removed my hand from her breast. “Take off your bra.”
It was a demand, not a request. I was determined to keep this about sex. Not tenderness.
Her eyes flashed. I waited for her to tell me to go to hell or pull one of those damned switchblades on me.
But she didn’t. Her gaze flicked to my mouth. She licked her lips and I stifled a groan.
I stepped back and folded my arms over my chest. “Do it.”
