“I want you, Jasalie Gordon.” His dark eyes burn into mine, and a noise escapes my throat. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”
We’re up against the door, and I still have my purse on my shoulder, but nothing matters except for the man in front of me. I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer, and one of his thighs presses between my legs.
A desperate cry comes out of my mouth. I need him inside me so badly.
But Dylan’s lips are slow and lazy on mine. He kisses me like we have all the time in the world, like memorizing every inch of my mouth is the most important thing he’ll ever do in his life. His hands sneak underneath my sweater and reach my feverish skin, and he gently lets his fingers move from my waist up to my breasts.
One flick of his wrist and my bra’s undone.
And then his thumb is on my hard, swollen nipple.
“Oh, God.” I throw my head back and slam it against the door.
Dylan drops his hand. “You okay?”
My gaze is unfocused as I look at him. “Don’t stop, Dylan. Please don’t stop.”
He groans, and his hands go to my ass. He picks me up and carries me to the bed. As we fall onto it together, I abandon all sense of rational thinking. I no longer care if this is right, wrong, or crazy. I just know that I want him. And I won’t deny myself this.
I tear at his shirt frantically.
“Easy.” Dylan takes my hands in his. “We don’t have to rush.”
But his breathing’s as labored as mine is. And I’m like a wild animal right now—clawing at his clothes, biting his lower lip and letting his tongue slide inside my mouth so he can give me the kiss of my life. Dylan lifts my sweater over my head and my bra drops off my shoulders.
“Christ, Jasalie. You’re so beautiful.”
He kneels over me, his huge body a towering, overwhelming presence. His size could be intimidating, even scary, but he’s so gentle, and I know he’d never use his power against me.
Dylan’s tongue flicks one of my breasts, and then he takes my nipple completely into his mouth.
I grab at the comforter with both fists. “God, Dylan.”
He doesn’t stop. He sucks and licks and nips at me until my head is thrashing from side to side. Then he pulls off my pants.
When his hand slides inside the elastic of my panties, he looks up at me, his eyes dilated and dark.
“Hell, Jasalie. You’re—” He swallows.
Yes. I’m soaked. For him. And I want him so badly my thighs won’t stop shaking.
Dylan slowly drags my underwear down my legs and over my ankles. When I’m completely naked before him, he just looks at me for a long moment.
I squirm under his gaze, and he lays his hand on my hip, holding me still. “I’ve pictured you.”
I narrow my eyes. “And how do I measure up to your fantasy?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t measure up. Because the real you is so incredible, and so alive, and so here. You’re gorgeous.”
“I need to see you, too.” I reach up and finally get his shirt off of him.
And I inhale. I may or may not make delirious sounds of ecstasy.
Because dear God and everything that’s holy, is Dylan Wild built. Muscles ripple underneath his tanned skin, and the light sprinkling of chest hairs lead down to a happy trail I drag my fingers over.
His stomach trembles when I touch it, and I jerk my hand away. But he immediately grabs my wrist and puts my palm back on his torso.
“I’m sensitive here,” he says softly. “Had a few injuries, and I don’t usually like being touched there.”
