“You can’t just leave me like this.” I step forward but almost tumble, my shorts still around my knees. I shove them down and step out of them, my legs still shaking, my arousal wet between my legs.
“And yet, here we are,” he teases.
Asshole. His cock is practically tearing through his pants, so if he wants to play this game…
“If you don’t fuck me right now, Xander, the deal is off. What did you want me to tell them? What is this even?”
He rakes his gaze from my hairline to my tiptoes languidly. It’s like he is touching me, his stare burning my skin. I wish I didn’t enjoy this game.
I’m still mad at him, but this delay is strangely provoking in a very tantalizing way.
“I’m your husband. And you’remywife.”
There is something in his tone that speaks directlyto my core. Maybe the emphasis onmywife. Or perhaps the desire in his eyes. He sits a few feet from me, but he owns me.
I should laugh. I should protest. I should assert my independence. The entire exchange is ridiculous, and yet the undercurrent of commitment rings in his words. And that’s what my hormone-crazed mind latches onto.
It must be the hormones, because I shouldn’t get turned on when my fake not-yet-husband claims me like that… like I truly belong to him. Like we just said our vows.
“You’re not. Not yet,” I breathe.
His hooded gaze speeds up my heartbeat. I feel it in my stomach where a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters. That heated, worshiping look burns in my core.
“Take off the shirt,” he demands.
I blink a few times before my hands flee to the hem of my shirt, and I pull it over my head. It floats to the floor and lands at my feet.
“Your bra, too,” he rasps, no longer tapping. He is gripping the armrests now.
I unhook my bra and let it fall.
I shiver, not from cold, but from the weight of his devouring gaze. I never thought that standing in front of a man naked could be this empowering.
While I would only see flaws, it’s clear Xander seesanything but. His grip on the armrests is white-knuckled now.
“Crawl to me, Coraline.”
Dear God. The air fills with potent sensuality. With wanton filth. With delightful darkness.
He sits there like a king, waiting, dominating the dynamics of this situation. I can refuse, but why the fuck would I?
I lick my lips.
I take a deep breath, my entire body trembling.
I place my hand on the door, because I don’t trust my legs.
My head spins with desire. His eyes burn with equal need.
The moment of silence stretches while he dares me patiently, and I stall because the tension is too tantalizing.
He issued the order, but it’s me who holds the cards. And I want the fucking experience.
I lower myself to my knees, my heart throbbing in my temples. His eyes flash with approval, and it’s all I need to channel my inner temptress. One I didn’t even know existed.
The distance is very short, but I take my time, swaying my hips, my chin high, my eyes glued to his.
His jaw twitches.
