I lick my lips and his eyes follow. “Um. . .yeah. That would be nice.”
His eyes linger on my lips for a second longer before he places his hand on my lower back. The spark that has been hanging in the air zaps as he touches me. Then as if that isn’tenough he moves to where the front of his body presses against the back of mine.
Holy fucking hell.
I’m going to go up in flames.
My hands tighten to fists in front of me. My breaths come in short and shallow.
Leaning against me I can feel his cock through his sweatpants digging against my back.
This time it takes everything within me to suppress the whimper that wants to pass through my lips.
As he opens the cabinet filled with snacks he asks me in a voice that’s husky, “What would you like?”
And my mind has gone and went down the gutter. Filled with dirty thoughts and salacious acts. Especially when I feel his cock hardening against me.
I’m about to blurt out ‘you’ but instead I reply breathlessly, “Anything that’s good and sweet.”
He gives a soft chuckle that rumbles from his chest. “Oh, I can give you something good but it isn’t going to be sweet.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
I can feel the heat pull between my legs and the thin cotton panties I have dampen with desire.
I try to stay still but my hips move on their own accord. Moving restlessly against him.
A deep satisfied moan filled with pleasure comes from him.
And somehow just from the sound I become wetter.
His hands, large and rough then grasp my hips. They place me still but bring me harder against him. “You think you would like that?” His voice is low and carnal. Filled with dark fantasies and wicked intentions. And I am right there with him. Wanting to explore each and every one.
“Yes,” I moan.
He squeezes my hips. The bite of his fingers digging deliciously in my skin. “That’s the problem, Grace,” he begins gruffly. The way he says my name drives me to an uncertain level of insane. He then continues, “you’ll like whatever I have to give when we both know you deserve more.”
“Oak.” His name is a plea on my lips. A plea for him to move his hands. A plea for him to bring me closer. A plea to feel his lips on mine.
“And something sweet is not what I can give you.”
“And what if I’m not in the mood for something sweet?”
I hear his sharp inhale of breath. His fingers digging deeper in my skin. And I know it will leave bruises but they will be ones I’ll cherish. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I dare to say boldly, “Then show me.”
There’s a beat of silence and then movement happens behind me. He’s no longer pressed against me, his hands no longer gripping my hips. And I already mourn the loss of his touch.
Before I can let out a whimper of protest he cages me in against the counter. His lips are by my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “If I show you then I won’t be able to stop,” he warns me, his lips brushing against my ear with each word.
He’s giving me a warning that I have no intention on heeding.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
His nose skims down the side of my neck and stops when he meets the curve. “You will. Want to know why?”
“Why?”
