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He'd pulled her blouse free of her slacks, and had his palms on her bare waist, long fingers framing her rib cage, with enough pressure to take up the space between the bones. His cock was stiff against his jeans and the thin layer of her slacks, the gush of damp heat beneath. He shifted from her mouth to her jaw, tipping back her head with an insistent nudge.
She quivered as he closed his mouth on her throat, laved her pulse, the sensitive pocket formed by her collar bones. His tongue followed her sternum to her cleavage. Sensation radiated out, tingling through her breasts, tightening her nipples. He went back to her carotid, up under her ear, nipping her lobe before he bit the side of her throat. His hands constricted on her ribs, her waist.
Abruptly, he went still, as if he’d turned to stone. A hard shudder went through him. Her breath was rising and falling quickly as she clutched him to her, but she went just as motionless. As aroused as she was, that stimulation was always about what was going on with the man under her control. Not just where her commands were taking him, but his own mind and heart.
Tiger’s had just taken him someplace that told him he couldn’t do this right now.Damn it all.If she shifted her touch to his ass and increased her grip, he’d interpret it as an order, that she wanted him to keep going. But with his head in the wrong place, that would make things worse.
Though it was more difficult than she’d anticipated to rein her own desires back—the man could kiss like a sex demon—she slid her hands under his T-shirt and found the wide expanse of his back. She stroked the contours down to his waist and played her fingertips along the inside of the waistband of his jeans, but kept it easy, taking them away from the intensity of the past few moments.
He had lifted his head and was staring at her as he sorted things out. A rueful look mixed with too much frustration crossed his face. His tone was light, forced. “Hope you don’t think I’m not appreciative, Mistress. The stupidest fucking word for being offered the gates of heaven and asking for a rain check.”
She reached down and stroked a hand over his erection, still pressing against his fly. She mouthed the word. “Noted.”
That tight smile again. Tiger gave her a squeeze, then dropped heavily back into the office chair. She didn’t want him that far away, so she leaned forward from the desk and tugged on the front of his T-shirt. He obligingly rolled the chair closer. She touched his face, then made a flat palmed motion horizontally in front of her, a wave to it before she let the move drift away to her left. Slow and easy worked for her.
Though his mouth had gone to a flat line, it eased a little. He understood. She handed him his coffee again.
When he leaned back in the chair, close enough his leg stretched out under the desk, she intended to brace her foot on his thigh again. This time she decided to take off her shoe first. When the pump loosened from her heel, he closed his hand overit before it could freefall to the floor. After he carefully placed the shoe there, he did the same for the other one, then held that foot in his lap. He caressed her arch as she bent her knee and tucked the other foot under her leg. She picked up her own coffee.
He was back to staring at the desk. His mood unfortunately seemed to settle back into the roiling darkness inside him. He released her foot to rub a hand over his rough jaw. “Why did you come here, Skye?”
She held up her screen. “Because you need a friend. One you won’t scare off just because you bark at her.”
His broody expression didn’t change, not until she typed another question. Then it turned to irritated confusion.
“How do I feel about body painting? You’re thinking of having the Mustang repainted? That’s the original factory color and it’s in pristine shape. Why—”
She raised a hand, pointed at his chest and made a brush motion in front of it.
“Oh.Bodypainting.” His brow lifted. “Am I the canvas or the painter?”
She typed again. “Charity event at Dale and Athena Rousseau’s. We have a dozen or so artists. We’re short one submissive volunteer. Open bar, good eats.”
A hundred things passed through his dark blue eyes before he turned them away. He took a sip of coffee. “There’s a lot happening with the garage. I need to pass.”
While her intent wasn’t to goad him, she damn well wasn’t going to avoid what needed to be said. She tapped the desk to bring his attention back to her. She swept her gaze pointedly over the full ashtray, the dark TV he’d been staring vacantly at when she arrived.
His eyes flashed and mouth tightened.
She’d realized he was at a breaking point. Unfortunately, she’d miscalculated how close to it he was.
When he erupted from the chair, he took her from the desk to the wall in the time she’d drawn a startled breath. If he hadn’t pulled his momentum, the impact would have jarred her to the bones. He held her pinned there with zero effort and a dark expression twisted with frustration and anger.
Cyn might be right about her needing more self-defense lessons.
“Out in the real world, I’m not a pet,” he said. “If I’m barking, it’s because I’m fucking intending to bite and it’s a warning. You shouldn’t have come here.”
He released her as fast as he’d seized her. Then he pivoted, lifted his foot and shoved the desk. As it slammed into the far wall, his coffee wobbled but didn’t topple. He took care of that, smacking it away so the liquid splattered the paneling, the cup bouncing off the TV screen.
She was by the door. She could bolt. He probably wanted her to do that. So she didn’t. The truth might have been spoken lightly, but it wasn’t a light truth. Like any fierce animal in pain, he needed someone who wouldn’t be scared away. One who understood more about him and who he was than most.
Whatever he did next would validate that knowledge, or she would have to leave. Once her knees weren’t quivering.
For now, she stood where she was, waiting. Hoping he’d stay turned away long enough the pulse in her throat would settle to match the stony look she’d locked into place.
“Fuck.” He glanced at her. He still looked and sounded mean, but the words weren’t. “You okay?”
Before she could answer, his gaze fell to the grip she had on her phone. Her hand was quivering, no matter that she tried to stop it.
