“See? We don’t need those rules. The rules weren’t helping.”
“The rules,” I hiss, as contrary as a human can be while touching her body for the pleasure of a man. “Keep this civilized.”
“Yeah?” His gaze focuses hard and bright on my face before returning to where my hands have fully repudiated my brain’s jurisdiction. Nothing civilized about the way he looks at me there. “That how babies are made? Over fucking tea and…whatever those little cakes are.”
“Scones,” I say, using both thumbs to toy with myself. “Crumpets. Iced fairy cakes? Hot cross buns?”
“Fuck. That’s it, Kitty. List off snobby British food while you show me how sexy you are.” He swallows, the sound a dry counterpoint to my rushed breathing. We’re both almost smiling. Almost, because being this turned on is a serious business, I guess, and there doesn’t seem to be room inside my tight skin for both mirth and the way he makes me feel.
“Harder,” he orders and, my god, my body’s into that idea. I can’t help the slight forward press of my hips when I lift my own breast and squeeze, pull at the other nipple, then hold them both up and together, as if offering them straight to his mouth. “That’s good. Yeah.”
That’s when I notice that he’s reached down to grip himself through his shorts. His eyes flick up to my face and back down, then up again. He dips into his underwear and pauses, looking me dead in the eye. “Nudity’s on the table. That rule’s gone, Katarina.”
I shut my eyes at the overwhelming flood of pleasure I get from no longer being in charge. He’s ripping down my walls, one flimsy rule at a time.
“Iknow,” I say, sounding snarky as hell.
I’ve never once been this turned on. Well, aside from the last time. From every time. The hotel, the restaurant. The hallway.
And this is so much more, I think. In my home, my room.
He’s going to fuck me on my bed. On my clean sheets. In broad daylight.
No. No, not fuck me. If I start thinking like that, I’ll be done for.
Oh, shut up. We both know it’s too late.
With obvious eagerness, he yanks the waistband down, baring the thickest, longest cock I’ve been in a room with.
Oh. My. God.
My mouth drops, along with the heavy weight in my belly. It takes everything I’ve got not to moan as my eyes take him in, as ravenous as the rest of me. I don’t think I’d have let him fuck me if I’d seen him first.
Now, when he starts stroking himself, it’s with rough, quick movements. I know this because I’m staring, rapt. I know it, too, because I’ve heard him do it in the dark. I’ve pictured just this. My imagination did not do him justice. The whole picture, the full naked man, is a thing of wild, unrestrained—and frighteningly unrestrainable—beauty. The sight is decadent and scary. He’s too thick, too strong, too hairy, his eyes too hot, his hunger too obvious. My vision dims.
A single drop of clear fluid gathers at his slit and starts to roll down the head where his palm catches it on its way down, rubbing it into his skin.
As if it has a mind of its own, my tongue slides out to lick my lower lip.
He sees me and stills. Dead serious, he looks me straight in the eye. “You want a taste, Katarina?”
23
Jake
Kit swallows. She wants it. The way those nipples bead, hard and swollen and bright red from her own fingers, the way her mouth hangs slightly open, the blown-out black of her pupils, eating up those whiskey eyes. All of it tells me she’s turned all the way on.
But she’s stubborn as hell—so damn appealing—and that means it’ll take more than an invitation to coax her mouth to my body.
And hell, when I said taste, it didn’t have to be my cock. She can sample any part of me she wants. The lengths I’d go to in order to get her to cave on one more little rule.
“I…I don’t know.”
Instead of words, which seem to get her back up, I use my hand and my cock to convince, twisting at the top, squeezing on the way down, so tight my scarred knuckles go white. To stop my other hand from reaching for her, I slide it down, over abs that have gone tense with want, to cradle my aching balls.
The noise she makes urges me to look up at her again, but that, I intuit, would be a mistake. No direct eye contact. No more mention of that fucking contract.
Then again, now that we’ve gotten past the first few rules, I magnanimously don’t mind the contract quite as much. If the idea of it makes her feel safe enough to stand there half naked watching me get my dick hard in order to breed her. Probably more than anyone, I get that some rules are meant to be smashed through with an iron fist.
