Then I feel it—the heat radiating from him, enveloping me without a single touch. He makes a low, rough sound in the pit of his chest, a vibration I feel deep in my own bones, and a shiver wracks my spine.
I finally turn to face him, and the look in his eyes steals my breath. Pure, undiluted hunger. His jaw is a tight line, a muscle ticking relentlessly. His fingers twitch and curl at his sides, fighting the instinct to reach for me.
After experiencing his touch at the bakery, a barely-there torment, I can only imagine the inferno he’s holding back now that we’re alone.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I hesitantly reach out. His muscles coil, rock-hard beneath my palm as I press my fingers against his chest. The steady, powerful beat of his heart is a drum under my skin. “You’re seriously a force to be reckoned with…” I mutter the words, chewing on my lower lip.
“Destiny.” He groans my name like a confession, like a curse. The muscles in his face flex, his control stretched to its limit. “You’re making things hard.”
More like, I’m makinghimhard.
A bold, dizzying heat floods me. Needing confirmation, needing to feel the truth of it, I let my fingers trail down, over the rigid plane of his stomach, until my knuckles brush against the rigid denim of his jeans.
The question spills out, wrapped in a jealousy that surprises me with its ferocity. “If I stay here, how will I know women won’t approach you?” He isn’t mine to demand anything, and yet the very idea is a physical ache.
His throat works as my finger hooks, plucking lightly at his belt loop.
“They won’t,” he grates out, his voice thick. “Not if I already have someone. Let me get you a cut of your own, something with my name on it, and they’ll avoid me like the plague.”
My breath hitches, catching in my throat as my gaze flies up to meet his. The intensity there is overwhelming. “You want that?” I whisper, needing to hear the affirmation.
He scowls, but it’s not directed at me. It’s at the sheer obviousness of his desire. “Yes,” he says, the word leaving no room for doubt. “I do.”
I shouldn’t poke the bear when he’s this close to devouring me, but the devil on my shoulder is screaming in triumph. Seeing Hammer—so controlled, so reserved—unraveled like this is doing wicked, wonderful things to me. I crave the tingles he ignites. I am addicted to the way he makes me feel.
“Convince me.” The words leave me on a shaky breath, a reckless surrender to the heart hammering in my chest. I let it lead, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Show me how you feel. If you succeed… I’ll stay.”
I am throwing all the green flags at him, and maybe the white one of surrender, too. I see the exact moment my challenge detonates within him. The hunger in his eyes doesn’t just flare; it explodes, turning his gaze to molten steel.
The moment he touches me, I know he’s taking my challenge to heart. This isn’t a gentle persuasion. It’s a claim. I am his. The only woman for him.
His hand doesn’t cup my face; it frames my jaw, his thumb pressing against my pulse point as if to feel the frantic beat his name causes. His other arm bands around my waist, crushing me against the solid, unyielding wall of his body. The evidence of his desire, hard and insistent against my stomach, wrings a sharp gasp from my lips.
“Then stop talking,” he rasps, his voice rough before his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s not a kiss of gentle exploration. It’s a conflagration. It’s a man starved, finally tasting his only meal. His lips are demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim possession, and the low groan that vibrates from his chest into mine is the most primal sound I’ve ever heard.
This feels different than the kisses from last night. This ishimleading.
My hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to the rigid muscle there, my nails digging into the cotton of his shirt.
He walks me back without breaking the kiss, until the back of my knees hit the edge of his bed.
Reaching for his vest wrapped around my top, he pushes it off. Growling against my teeth, he pulls back to look down at me. His lips curl into a rare smile, but it looks more like a snarl.
His hand lifts, his knuckles brushing against what his cut was hiding. My nipple beads against my shirt, revealing my very own arousal.
“You sure you want this?” His breath comes out in heavy waves. “Once I start, I won’t want to stop.”
Reaching down, I answer him by grabbing my shirt. Pulling it off, I’m left exposed where my flush has spread.
This brute abandons conversation altogether as he moves in a blur.
I fall onto the soft comforter, and he follows me down, caging me in with his powerful arms. His mouth claims mine before I feel his teeth against my throat.
“Hammer,” I pant, my head spinning, my body arching into his of its own volition.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his chest heaving. His eyes are wild, dark with a need that mirrors the desperate ache coiling low in my belly.
