“Uh… Th-thank you.” I swallow the saliva suddenly filling my mouth.
God dammit, his scent is… mouthwatering.
I hate it. Ihatehim…
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, black eyes falling to my lips. “Tell me what it will take for you to let me touch you, sweetheart. I’machingfor it…”
His hand rushes up and down his thigh, more insistently now, as if it’s taking extreme control to keep himself from grabbing me.
But he’s not. He’snotpawing at me, or lunging for me. Instead, he’sbegging…
Who is this man??
I swear to God, this is The Ivory. But he’s not behaving the way I expectedat all. The only explanation is that he doesn’t recognize me. He’s not seeing Angel Alvarez. He’s seeing Lucas Hansen… A hot dude he wants to touch so badly it’s apparently like torture not to.
This is it. My chance.
Get him to drop his guard, then go for the knife.
“Baby, please…” He whimpers, gravelly and desperate.
The thump in my pants makes me dizzy.
Dios… fucking focus.
“Can I… what if I… touch you?” My hand lifts.
His lashes flutter, a distinctly darker shade than his hair and eyebrows. They’re long too, his blinking a delicate movement. Like a butterfly landing on your finger.
The mound of this throat dips, and I’m sweating.
He’s visibly wound, as if he’s already going out of his mind. “Sure. Of course… fuck me, love,whateveryou want. I just need to feel you…”
Shit shit shit…
This is so bad. I’m already crumbling, and he’s leaning over me, practically crawling on top of me, both of our chests heaving while I lift shaky fingers to his neck. The moment they brush his skin, we both groan quietly.
God, why is his skin so soft??
“Oh, sweet thing,” he pants. “More… Please touch me more…”
“God…” I whine, grazing my fingers down his throat.
The light scratch of his stubble causes a pulse between my legs that I’m ignoring fiercely as I run fingertips over his clavicle, to the collar of his dress shirt. It’s open a bit, and they sneak inside, touching the very beginning of his chest.
Pressing my lips together to trap eager hums from escaping.
“You can open it more,” he gasps over my face, white hair hanging in his eyes. “If you want…”
Nodding nervously, I use my twitchy fingers to pop a button. Then another… Then another. And we both watch in fascination as lines of definition are revealed; slopes and sinews of taut, sculpted muscle.
Dios, his body is so nice…
Wait. No, ignore that. Focus on…
Dress shirt hanging open, I notice something. Black ink, over his heart.
A bird… wrapped in barbed wire.
