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Fuck. She was about to ask me to touch her, lie with her, fuck her, and I was too caught up in putting distance between us.
Much needed distance, and fuck Johnson for making an appointment with her for me when I told him not to, not anymore, but thank God he did. She’s so strong, doing this, but I can’t imagine her doing it with someone other than me. Let someone else put his paws on her, his mouth on her, his dick in her.
Don’t wanna fucking imagine it.
Last time I let her tie me up, get me off, kiss me. Break down every single defense I own. It’s crazy how much I want her. How she makes me so hard ,how she makes me feel so good just by touching my skin, tracing my muscles. By kissing me. By being in the same room with me.
This isn’t good. It’s fucked up. She’s just paying to use my body, and I’m falling for her.
Hell. I stroke her face, her skin like silk under my fingers, and bend my face to hers. I wanna kiss her so bad, but first I need to hear what she wants.
I fucked up enough already tonight.
“Tell me,” I command softly. “Tell me what you need from me.”
She shifts against me and I bite back a groan because I’ve been fucking hard from the moment she told me her plans for tonight and walked into my arms.
“Will you undress me?” she asks, her eyes still glistening with tears, and I wipe them with my thumbs. “And touch me.”
“There’s nothing I’d like more,” I vow fiercely. I put those tears there. I hurt her.
Fuck, I wish I knew what I was doing.
But I can undress her, touch her. I’m serious. There’s nothing else in the world right now, nobody else but her.
She’s so pretty, I can’t believe she’s in my arms. That I get to run my hands over her body. I nuzzle her face, press my body into hers, and she gasps.
I cover her mouth with mine, crush our lips together. My tongue finds hers, and a jolt of electric pleasure zaps down my spine.
Need to stop before I come.
Think of her, Riot. What she entrusted you with. And admit it, you want it so fucking bad you might scare her off.
Yeah, right now I’m not sure which one of us is more afraid of the other.
The thought fades in a rush of need when she starts kissing me back. Her small hands grip my forearms, her tongue tangles with mine, and she rubs on my body like a cat.
Oh fuck, I’m going to lose it and bend her over right here, on the coffee table. Fast and hard.
With an effort, I pull back, breaking the kiss, and walk her backward.
“Riot?”
“Shh. Let me.” I lay her down on the sofa, careful and slow when I just want to push up her dress and ram my cock into her.
But I also want it to be good for her. So yeah, careful and slow is how we’ll be doing this, if it kills me.
I kneel between her legs, stroke my hands over them. Her dress is soft and thin, and I can’t see buttons or a zipper or any other fucking way to take it off.
Shit.
She’s looking at me, those dark eyes wide, as I fumble with the dress. Finally I decide, fuck it, and pull it up, over her head. She squeals, and damn, I hope the thing’s not expensive, because something rips with a screech.
Awesome, Riot. Jesus.
When I finally get the cursed thing off her, though, she’s smiling and I’m speechless. Damn. Hell.
She’s gorgeous. She’s just...fuck, curvy in all the right places, and that black bra is pushing up her tits and...it has to go. Now. Before I lose my mind.
