He kissed me back the same way. His palms found my waist, pulling me closer, and I straddled his lap on the kitchen chair. His mouth was warm and unhurried and thorough, and I felt every bit of his restraint in the way his fingers flexed on my hips, keeping himself leashed, letting me set the pace.
I broke the kiss to look at him. "Take me to bed."
"Charlie—"
"Not because I'm scared. Not adrenaline." I held his gaze. "I want you. I'm choosing this."
He studied my face. Whatever he was looking for, he found it.
He stood, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and let him carry me to my bedroom.
HE SET ME DOWN ANDstepped back. Streetlight through the blinds painted silver stripes across his chest. I'd brought men here before. None of them had looked at me the way he was looking at me now.
"Hi," I said, which was possibly the stupidest thing anyone had ever said to a man they'd just asked to take them to bed.
His mouth twitched. "Hi."
He pulled his henley off in one motion and I watched his stomach tighten, the hard cut of his shoulders, and my mouth went dry. I'd felt all of that in the dark, in the SUV, frantic andhalf-clothed. This was different. This was him in my bedroom with the lamp on, letting me look.
I reached for his belt. He caught my hand.
"I want to taste you," I said. No point being coy about it. Not now.
Something shifted in his face — heat, hunger, that focused intensity I'd felt when he pinned my wrists. He sat on the edge of the bed. Undid his belt himself, slow and deliberate, watching my face the whole time. When he freed his cock — hard, thick — I stopped pretending I was holding it together.
"On your knees," he said. Quiet. Certain. The same voice from before, the one that bypassed every argument I had.
I knelt between his thighs and wrapped my hand around him. He hissed through his teeth.
"Look at me," he said.
I looked up. His hand found the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair. Not resting there. Directing. Telling me where he wanted me before I got there.
I took him in my mouth and his grip tightened.
"That's it." Low, rough. "Just like that, Charlie."
I'd been thinking about this since the linen closet. What he tasted like. What sounds he'd make when his control finally cracked. And God — the sounds. Raw, nothing held back. His hand guided the pace, slow when he wanted slow, deeper when his fingers pressed and I followed, taking more of him, working my hand and mouth together until his breathing went ragged.
"Jesus —" His hips shifted. "Your mouth — fuck, Charlie."
I moaned around him and his grip in my hair tightened hard enough to sting. I took him deeper, hollowed my cheeks, and his thigh muscles locked under my palms. Every sound he made went straight through me.
He stopped me before he finished. Pulled me up by the wrist, flipped me underneath him in one motion.
"My turn," he said against my mouth.
"Already?"
He reached over the side of the bed. His go-bag was there -—always within arm's reach. He came back with the tactical cuffs. Matte black. Heavy.
My pulse spiked.
"Tell me yes," he said, holding them where I could see. "Or tell me no. Either way, I've got you."
"Yes."
"Color?"
