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I don’t think, though I probably should. I don’t slow down, though I definitely should. And I don’t stop myself, though it’ll be my fucking ruin. I just spin her, pin her to the desk with the weight of my body, and grab the zipper in the middle of her shoulderblades with two fingers.
“Dante—!”
The way she chokes out my name, it’s not fear. It’s not shock, or horror. And it’snota warning.
It’s an invitation.
A fuckingdare.
I can feel her body shiver as I tug the zipper down, letting the dress peel away from her soft skin. I move unhurriedly; slowly, patiently.
Methodically.
I let the zipper bump over each individual tooth, letting inch after inch of her pale, soft skin come under my gaze in the dim light. I watch the goosebumps flutter over her back. I hear the way her breath catches, feel the way her body shivers.
…The way her ass subtly presses into me and tenses when she feels how fucking hard I am.
When I bring the zipper to the small of her back, the front of the strapless dress falls away. My eyes raise to the reflection of the room in the window, my gaze locking on her sweet, soft tits.
This isn’t about fucking thievery anymore. It’s not about whatever the fuck I’m still vainly trying to tell myself I’m looking for—what,documents? As if she’s a spy out ofMission Impossible?
The dress unzips all the way and drops to the floor, much like the lies I’ve still been trying to tell myself. Suddenly, I’m not hunting for stolen documents on a would-be thief or looking for her lies.
I’m just a man with his hands on a woman he wants.
And the woman isstunning.
It’s clear that Tempest doesn’t eat enough. Her ribs are far too visible, her arms much too thin. But neither of those things doesshitto diminish her beauty and allure. Even having seen her in something other than her usual punk-rock princess attire, likethe flirty club dress, or the gown she wore to the party the other night…none of it has prepared me for seeing Tempest like this.
…Bare to me except for a tiny little black thong tight between the taut globes of her ass.
Waifish and breakable, and yet so fucking womanly it takes everything I have not to groan. There’s something disturbingly sexy about the way she shivers as her breath catches in her throat. The way her light pink, almost ghostly pale nipples harden to points in her reflection before me.
The way she whimpers when I grab a fistful of her hair.
“Show me where it is, little hurricane,” I rasp into her ear as my control begins to shatter like broken glass. “Show me where you’ve hidden it.”
“I…I haven’t…”
She’s shaking. But it’s not fear doing that.
It’sme.
I can tell by the way her body subtly pushes back into me. The way her back arches, and her ass moves against the bulge in my pants.
Her arms are taut as steel bands, her nails digging into the edge of the desk. I slide my hands up them, relishing the shiver that ripples through her body.
“Is ithere?”
She whimpers again as I brush her hair aside and trace the backs of my knuckles over the soft skin of her neck.
“No…” she whispers in a throaty, aching tone.
She shudders when my hand circles her neck, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her throat and jaw as I twist her head toward me. Her eyes are hooded, almost closed. Then slowly, they open to stab right into mine with greenish-hazel fire.
My other hand slides to her hip, making her mewl softly as her teeth quickly bite down on her bottom lip. My hand slips higher, tracing over her ribs and then over her sternum, a single finger teasing up between her breasts.
“How abouthere…” I murmur darkly.
