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But she couldn’t resist. She found the bottom of his sweatshirt, and slid her hand inside. Her breath caught as she connected with hot, smooth skin, the big, graceful contours of his back, the ridges of bone, the slabs of muscle. Powerful and ripped. His body was super-deluxe.
He arched back with a gasp as she explored the curve of his shoulder-blade, the small, bumpy muscles that overlaid his ribs. She let her fingers slide up his spine until they touched the cowlick at his nape. It was shaved almost to stubble to tame the curl, but she could see the tender swirl, the circular pattern. It filled her with yearning.
She wanted to kiss it. And didn’t have the nerve. Tormenting him was one thing. She could brace herself for him to be stern, make her be good. But she’d shrivel and die of shame if he rejected her tenderness.
Her hand slid to his waistband. Inside, to the cleft of his ass.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was strangled.
“Oh, Bruno. That’s just sad. If you have to ask.”
“Christ.” His voice was pleading. “Don’t do this.”
She snuggled closer. “In a way, it’s liberating.” She pressed her lips against the curve of his neck, breathing in his hot male musk.
“What’s liberating?”
She nipped him gently. “That you already think I’m deranged.”
He twisted to glare at her. “I never said that!”
“Actions speak louder than words. The point is, since I’m so completely out there, I’m not responsible for anything. I can do, well, anything. Wow.” She slid her hand around his front, let her fingers trail down that silken arrow of chest hair. “It opens up my horizons like never before.”
He grabbed her hand, clamping it against his belly so that it couldn’t creep lower. “Don’t.”
“And this situation forces you to be the grown-up at all costs. Mr. Mature. It’s a role you’re not used to playing, right?”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Nothing bad,” she soothed. “You don’t deny yourself much. Who could blame you? You have money. You’re good-looking. You enjoy women. They enjoy you back. You avoid responsibility.”
He sat up, glaring. “So I’m a frivolous playboy asshole?”
“Shhh,” she soothed. “Don’t yell at me, Bruno. I’m unstable, remember? I might freak out on you.” She stuck her thumbs in her ears, waggled her fingers. “Stay very calm. Don’t set me off.”
He got up, turning away from her. “Stop pushing me. Please.”
The vibrating tension in his voice sobered her giddy mood. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to do that.”
He turned to her. “You want me to fuck you now.”
It wasn’t a question. She didn’t have to answer it. A good thing, because she couldn’t speak. She just gulped, and waited.
“I don’t have any condoms,” he announced. “I just had the one, in my pocket this morning. That’s it.”
Oh. Geez. She was taken aback. Such a prosaic reason.
“I would have had to ask Aaro to buy condoms for us, to be prepared for sex,” he said. “And I just didn’t have the stomach for it.”
She cleared her throat. “I, ah, don’t blame you one little bit.”
“I assume you’re not on the pill. Being on the run, and all that.” He paused, hopefully. “Unless you have an implant, or something.”
“No,” she said quietly. “No implant. No something.”
He blew out a heavy sigh. “So there we are.”
“Can’t we just…” She flapped her hands eloquently. “You know.”
