She bit down on her lower lip. The look in his eyes as he stared at her had the inner walls of her sex clenching. A tingling sensation was whirling in her core, picking up momentum with each second that passed.
“Are you gonna share with the class?” she asked breathlessly.
His stare grew more serious, pinning her in place, his expression inscrutable. “It involves me being in control. Total control.”
Control. Total control. No euphemism, no circling around the subject. The explicitness of it was hotter than anything she’d expected, and it landed inside her like a shot of molten metal. She closed her eyes for a second and thanked her one-night-stand fairy godmother for sending her a man who took control in the bedroom, which was all she ever wanted. The men in her past relationships claimed to do just that, but they had been more talk than action. Poppy’s lady-part intuition was telling her thatAJ was more action than talk. She could feel her cheeks warming at the thought of him dominating her.
When she opened her eyes, she found AJ staring into her soul. The look in his eyes as he studied her made her entire body shiver with need, trembling with a ghost of sensation that left her dizzy. She bit down on her lower lip once again, trying to anchor herself, but instead her mind spun further out.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you thinking?”
She didn’t trust herself to respond truthfully, so she reached for humor, her oldest armor. “I’m thinking Santa must have gotten my letter, because that’s all I wanted for Christmas.”
AJ’s lips twitched up at the corners, then broke into a real, dangerous smile. “And you’ve been a good girl?” he asked, his voice a velvet threat.
“What if I said I’ve been naughty?”
“Then I would say Santa gotmyletter,” he replied.
Yep. Her one-night-stand fairy godmother was working overtime on this one. Poppy knew one night with one man wasn’t going to solve all her problems or make them go away, but if one night with a man could…
11
All of Poppy’sadult life, she’d been a foreplay girl. She needed a lot to get her engine going. It took kissing, touching, and, most importantly, concentration on her part to shut off her brain from overthinking to even have a shot at being aroused. Even then, with all her sexual stars aligned, she still needed lube nine times out of ten, and if anything disrupted the flow, a text, a cat outside, the dryer going off—the moment was ruined, and she was back at square one.
That was not what was happening here. She was so turned on she could barely remember her own name, forget trying to shut her brain off, it had turned the sign from open to closed. And lube…she was wet already, and AJ hadn’t even touched her. He hadn’t kissed her. Neither of them had taken off a single piece of clothing.
He walked towards her, and she braced herself internally. For what? She didn’t know. He stopped directly in front of her but did not touch her. Not yet. Instead, he lifted his hand halfway, then paused, as if offering her a final chance to decline or walk away. But Poppy had no plans to do either. She was all systems go, yes, yes, yes and she couldn’t have moved if shewanted to, she was rooted to the floor, her heart a metronome gone berserk.
She did have one question bouncing around in her mind, a curiosity of the sexual nature.
“So how do you…control things?” She had an idea, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“Most people think sex is about the act itself,” he said, his tone suddenly as clinical as her own had been before. “But for me, it’s about prediction. Anticipation. Seduction. The buildup. I like to know what’s coming. I need to.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “So I take control of the input. That way, nothing surprises me.”
“Oh…” The single syllable was all she managed to reply. She wanted to say something, but what? She had no clue. She was beyond forming the structure of sentences at this point with him there, towering over her, his presence so consuming it felt like another physical touch.
Desire swelled in her body, as he stood so close, she could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him but not close enough for any actual physical contact. He didn’t lean down and press his lips to hers. Instead, he placed a single finger under her chin and angled her face up to his, the movement gentle but utterly unyielding. The world shrunk to the space between their mouths. His breath fanned against her face, and she closed her eyes, anticipating the press of his lips against hers. He waited just long enough for her to start shaking, whether from nerves or desire, she couldn’t say. Then, finally, he kissed her, slow, soft, and utterly devastating.
Most of Poppy’s experience with first kisses had prepared her for clumsy collisions, teeth knocking, and awkward searches for synchronization. This was nothing like that. AJ’s mouth was a perfect fit for hers, neither demanding nor tentative, but insteadwholly immersive. He kissed her as if it was the only way to communicate, and maybe for him, it was.
She barely remembered how her arms found his shoulders or how her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. She knew only that she was melting into him, her body molding itself to his frame as if it had always been meant for that purpose. One hand roamed up and down her back, then gripped her hip in a possessive hold that made her feel safe and a little bit dangerous. He kissed her with ruthless patience, drawing it out, pulling back just enough to make her chase him, then rewarding her with more. She’d never known you could be dominated by a kiss, but that’s what this was, a total, erotic capitulation.
Poppy lost track of time. She lost track of gravity, of boundaries, of anything that wasn’t AJ’s hand on her jaw or his tongue teasing at her lips. By the time he finally pulled away, she was gasping for air, her brain a riot of static.
Still dizzy from the kiss, she felt him unzipping her dress. The material fell down around her ankles, and he instructed her to step out of it. His tone was commanding and authoritative, causing her sex to clench with need. She did as he asked.
Next, he untied his tie and then unbuttoned his shirt, and she watched, standing in her bra and underwear, scared to even breathe, thinking it might ruin the moment. His hands, large and deft, looked like they could crack walnuts or splinter doors, but when he reached for her, she felt nothing but reverence in his touch. When his shirt parted, her eyes hungrily took in the landscape of his chiseled chest and broad shoulders. His biceps bunched and flexed as he shrugged off what remained of his shirt, ropes of muscle and tendon shifting smoothly beneath his skin. His arms, the same ones that had held her with such controlled gentleness, were pure power. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch the masterpiece that was his body, but she knew that she couldn’t. He said he had control. She wasn’t surewhat those boundaries were, but it almost made it more exciting having limitations.
He slowly unbuckled and unzipped his pants but did not push them down.
“Take off your bra.” His voice was as raw as gravel.
Her hands were shaking as she glanced down and unhooked the clasp in the center of her chest. The lace cups fell open, revealing her breasts, and the straps slid down her arms. His eyes flicked down to her underwear, and she followed his silent instruction. She held his eye contact as she hooked her fingers in the string at her hip and tugged the material down her legs, carefully stepping out, then straightening back up. Once she was completely nude, his hungry gaze travelled down her body and then back up again. She watched his chest heave as his breaths grew more and more shallow. When his eyes met hers again, he pushed his pants and boxers down his legs and off, then stood back up again, his erection standing at full attention. She returned the favor, and her eyes drank him in.
For a wild, reeling moment, Poppy couldn’t actually believe what was happening, that this was real. She’d fantasized about this, AJ’s shirt coming off, his body revealed, but the reality was something else entirely, a ferocity of presence that pinned her in place, her body and mind captive to it.
He was built, a word that had always seemed cliche in romance novels until now, like a Greek statue that had signed a deal with the devil for a little extra definition. His chest was broad, dusted with a dark fan of hair that arrowed down the center, drawing her eye to the perfect, impossible cut of his abs. Those were something she’d only ever seen in fitness magazines and Marvel movies. On AJ, the effect was far more devastating. Not only did he have a six-pack, but he also had that extra channel of muscle on either side, the ones that lookedlike parentheses carved in flesh, framing the line of hair that led down, down, down…
