I can't wait to see what she looks like when I’m inside her.
But that'll have to wait.
My self-control, a finely honed instrument over the years, is being tested in ways it hasn't been since I was a teenager, fumbling in the dark with a girl whose name I can barely remember.
My entire body is humming with a tension so tight it feels like a live wire.
Every muscle is coiled, ready to spring.
To take.
To claim.
To dominate.
But I don't.
I lie there, a statue of restraint, and I let her lead.
She kisses me again, her hands roaming over my chest and shoulders, her touch growing bolder with each passing second.
Her fingers trace the muscles of my abdomen, then dip lower, her knuckles brushing against the hard, heavy length of me.
My breath hitches.
My control, so carefully constructed, starts to crumble.
I can feel the beast inside me stirring, the dark, hungry part of me that craves control, that needs to see her submit, to hear her beg.
I want to flip her over, pin her hands above her head, and drive into her until she's screaming for mercy.
Instead, I roll onto my back, pulling her with me, so she's straddling my hips, the duvet a tangled mess around us.
Her tank top is askew, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist.
My gaze drops to her breasts, and I can see the hard peaks of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.
My hands come up to rest on her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh.
She looks down at me, her eyes dark with desire, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
This is better.
This gives her the illusion of control.
It lets her think she's the one in charge.
And for a little while, she can be.
She leans down, her hair falling around our faces like a curtain, and kisses me.
Chapter Twenty Three
Erica
He’s letting me lead.
The realization is a jolt, a shockwave that cuts through the fog of lust and brings everything into sharp, painful focus.
