When he leaned forward, I let my fingers linger at his lips, wiping away the chocolate with a touch that lasted a heartbeat too long. His lips were impossibly soft. Warm. The slight dampness of his breath ghosted across my fingertips, and when his mouth parted, I felt the heat of him.
I should have pulled back.
But his fingers had already closed around my wrist. Firm and inescapable. Those dark eyes locked onto mine with something that might have been a warning. Or a promise.
He wrapped his lips around my finger and dragged his tongue along my skin, cleaning the chocolate with devastating, methodical precision.
Holy. Freaking. Shit.
The sensation shot straight through my core. My breath caught audibly, and from the dark satisfaction in his eyes, he knew exactly what he’d done to me. The bastard had just weaponized dessert.
“Delicious,” he murmured, releasing my finger.
My thighs clenched.
Our chests rose and fell in perfect synchronization while the space between us thrummed with unspoken desire we were both pretending didn’t exist.
Sell this faster. Escape him faster.
The mantra repeated in my head, but my body wasn’t listening to logic anymore. My body had apparently decided to stage a coup against my brain.
“We should really sell this,” I heard myself whisper, and somehow, my hand was sliding under the table, landing on his knee. For show. Totally just for show.
His eyes flashed. “Should we?”
“Rebecca said to make it believable.” My fingers trailed higher, along the inside of his thigh. “The influencers need to see we can’t keep our hands off each other.”
His hand shot down to grab my wrist, but he didn’t push me away. Didn’t stop my upward progress. “Dakota.”
“What?” I let my other hand rest on his chest, leaning in close so anyone watching would see intimacy. “Isn’t this what we’re supposed to do?”
“You’re playing with fire, Sunshine.”
My hand inched higher, and when I felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against his fabric, I kept my hand on the outskirts. Careful not to disrespect him in that way, but, man, the primal satisfaction of realizing what I was doing to him flooded through me.
I was affecting Axel Pierce. Mr. Unflappable. Mr. I Don’t Do Feelings. And it was intoxicating.
Maybe some part of me wanted to see him unravel. Wanted to know I could affect him the way he affected me.
When I nuzzled his neck, letting my lips brush the sensitive spot below his ear, a low growl rumbled in his chest.
“You’d better stop, Sunshine,” he warned. But his free hand cupped the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair possessively.
“Is that what you really want?” I challenged, voice barely a whisper.
“Yes,” he claimed, but he looked like he wanted to unzip his pants and plunge my open mouth onto his waiting lap.
“Your body doesn’t seem to agree with your objections.”
His lips brushed my ear. “You’re telling me if I dip my fingers in your panties right now, they won’t come back glistening?”
Mother of …
Heat exploded through my core. My thighs began to throb with an ache that had nothing to do with performance andeverything to do with the vivid, devastating image his words painted in my mind.
“I …” My voice came out breathless, and I hated how transparent I was in this moment.
“That’s what I thought.” His thumb stroked along my jawline, satisfaction evident in his gaze. “Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”
