“Tell me I’m imagining it,” he murmurs. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I try to form the words.
Nothing comes out.
He smiles, a slow, sinful pull of his mouth. “Didn’t think so.”
His fingers brush my jaw…
Light.
Testing.
And then his hand slides into my hair, gripping just enough to make my breath punch out of me in a shaky gasp.
My whole body jolts.
His mouth is at my ear in a heartbeat.
“That’s it,” he growls. “That pretty little sound you make when I touch you like this.”
My knees go weak.
He uses the grip in my hair to lift my face. He wants me to feel the pressure, the control, the permission in it.
“You don’t run from me in here,” he whispers. “Not in my barn.”
My pulse stutters so hard it hurts.
“This is a bad idea,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you came looking for me anyway.”
His body presses forward slowly, nudging between my knees, until my thighs widen on instinct.
He inhales sharply; the sight of that alone is enough to break him.
“Delaney,” he groans, shaking with restraint, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
I grip the front of his shirt, desperate for balance, for him, for something to hold on to.
He groans. My touch hits him somewhere dangerous.
His grip in my hair tightens.
That small pull sends heat flooding through my body so fast I almost moan.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You like it when I take control, don’t you?”
My breath shatters.
He hears it.
Feels it.
And his lips curve against my cheek in a wicked, devastating smile.
“Say it,” he whispers.
