He stands, suddenly barefoot, facing me. “So, where were we?”
I walk to the minibar, pull out two wineglasses, and open the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”
He lifts the giant bottle. “Brought my own.” He takes a swig, grinning.
“Isn’t that stuff flat by now? I bet there’s nothing left but sugar water.”
“It’s refillable. That’s the point,” he shrugs. “Tastes like victory. Want a taste?”
I sigh, take the bottle, and lift it with both hands. The champagne is sweet and flat, almost syrupy, barely a bubble left.
“See? Not so bad,” he teases.
“It was bad,” I say.
“Oh yeah, I remember,” he says, voice smooth and calm, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger before letting his hand drift lightly to my neck, then behind my ear. “This is where we were.”
“With you seducing me?” I challenge, but close my eyes and lean into his palm.
“With you pretending to be cold and perfect, then melting the second I touch you.”
“I don’t melt,” I say, jerking away, but his low laugh stirs something hot inside me. “And don’t you dare belittle me.”
“I’m not here to belittle you,” he murmurs, voice darkening. “I’m here to claim you.”
“Like a trophy?” The words send a shiver through me, heat pooling low in my belly.
He doesn’t answer. He kisses me instead, quick and rough, dragging me into him.
I don’t melt!
I try to resist, to hold on to my composure, but his mouth, his hands, the heat of his body—I forget how to pretend. I feel his fingers at my waist, the champagne bottle forgotten.
“Last time you made me tipsy,” I say and break the kiss.
“I want you sober this time,” he says, eyes gleaming.
“Why?”
“I told you, I want to claim you. I want to see you resist the temptation, resist showing me how much you enjoy it, resist the need you feel when you see me. Watch you resist, watch you fail.”
“I invited you into my room, didn’t I?”
I step away, shake off my cardigan, then my shirt. I let my hair down and glance at him over my shoulder. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
He doesn’t move. “Go on.”
I drop my bra and let it fall, still facing away. When I glance back, the playful grin is gone, replaced by hunger.
“Back at the teasing game, aren’t we?”
He closes the distance in two strides and pulls me against him. The assault is fierce: his palm covering both my breasts, squeezing, his crotch grinding firmly against my ass, his erection nudging insistently. This time, the moan escapes me as his hands roam over my naked body—nothing gentle, just need.
His hot, ragged breath ghosts over my neck. His tongue slips into my ear, teeth grazing my earlobe as he growls, “No more teasing today. Today I’ll fuck you raw, and you’ll purr like the sweetest kitten.”
“I told you that you must do more than words, Reiner.”
“And I accepted that challenge.”
