“Six?” He winces so dramatically that I can’t stop the laughter bubbling from my chest, even when I want to play the stern librarian with him.
He pulls me onto his lap and nuzzles my neck. “I can’t watch something this boring with you right next to me. You smell too good. I want to eat you.” He playfully bites my shoulder.
Heat fills my belly. I want to kiss him again, but some small part of me is still afraid. The lonely teenager who mourned her best friend for years won’t be silenced. She screams that giving in to him is letting the enemy into the keep, especially when tonight isn’t about revenge.
It’s just for me.
Maybe I should stop being so dramatic. Life is not a fanfic. Tristan is not really Mr. Wickham.
I lift my head and press my lips against his. He inhales sharply before deepening the kiss. Warmth fills my belly as our tongues dance together.
He twists me around underneath him, pressing his hard body over mine. The weight of his big form sends shivers down myspine. He thrusts his hips against mine ever so slightly, and I let out a moan.
“Amy,” he pants.
The words of Mr. Darcy’s letter puncture through my daze.
“Be not alarmed, madam…”
I jerk my head up. “Oh my God, Tristan. It’s my favorite part of this episode. We have to save this for later.”
When my gaze returns to his face, his eyes are huge. “Are you…” He shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth. “Are you kidding me, Amy? Do you want me to die? My dick is going to die if you make me watch this series instead of kiss you.”
When I laugh, my hips wiggle against his, and he groans and grabs my waist. “You really do want to kill me.”
“It’s worth it,” I say. “Trust me.”
He narrows his eyes on my face, though his lips lift at the corners. “How about this? If you can get away from me, we can watch the movie.”
I scowl. “Get away from you when you have me pinned? You’re a goddamn football player.”
He brushes his fingers against my cheek. “You can get creative.”
Refusing to acknowledge his sexual insinuation, I try to flail my body out from under him but barely move an inch.
“Is that all you’ve got, Harrington?”
I glare at him. “I feel like a Redwood tree fell on top of me.”
He laughs. “Ah, maybe you should start working on the Redwood tree in my pants. That’s a better strategy to get me to lower my guard.”
I snort. “Redwood tree in your pants. That’s maybe the strangest euphemism I’ve ever heard for a dick, and I write erotic romance.”
He smiles lazily. “Only because you haven’t seen it yet.”
“How about this?” I say on impulse. “You agree to watch the rest of the series without fondling me if I let you see me naked.”
His whole body grows still, and I wish I could suck the words back into my mouth. This is a dangerous game. I absolutely cannot have sex with him tonight. He can look but not touch…
Or maybe touch a little bit.
His eyes grow so wide and bright, it’s like looking into the heart of a supernova. “Are you serious?” His voice is husky.
My heart starts to hammer. “Yes.”
His eyes seem to darken as they roam over my body. “Deal,” he says before hopping off me as if my body were on fire. He walks over to his desk chair and plops down on it, and a shiver runs over my spine.
“Stand in front of me,” he says. “You’re going to strip for me, right?”
