"Grey."
"What?"
I pause, eyeing him in challenge. "I know you can do better than that."
The flare in him singes me, leaving me smoldering. My face is tilted up to his, and he peers down into my eyes, into me. "Molly…" It's a warning.
"Do it," I whisper.
The heartbeat of his hesitation is eternal. And when his restraint snaps, my world snaps with it.
Our mouths meet with a crash I feel in my bones, a messy, hungry rush. The air punches out of my lungs at the contact, lips crushed, parted, nipped, his tongue demanding entry before I can even think to give it. My body answers before my mind, my hands clutching at his shirt, his shoulders, his arms, anything to tether me to him. I'm flooded by the taste of him, of salt and heat, drunk on the sweetness of his breath. The slick slide of his tongue against mine, the scrape of his teeth catching my lip, and I'm gasping into his mouth, helpless. He consumes me until I'm inside the fire instead of out, more creature than woman as I pull myself into his lap, fitting the seam of my body against the rigid length of him.
Endlessly, instantaneously, I feel him all over, everywhere.
This time, when he pulls back, I'm left dazed, dizzy, lips swollen and breath ragged. I'm still stretching for him chasing his mouth, my brain stuttering,holy shit holy shit holy shit.
He smiles knowingly, thumbing my chin. But his breath gives him away, quick and heavy. I ache in his lap, not sure if I'm better or worse now that I know what his mouth can do.
"Careful," he rasps. "You should know me well enough to know I don't do anything halfway."
I laugh, moving to kiss him again, but he pulls back, fixing my glasses. "That's enough for today."
My brow furrows, and I try really hard not to pout. "I thought I was supposed to lead. Put me in coach!"
He unseats me like a dickhead and puts me back in my chair, my arms folded all the while. "And you said you'd respect if I called it." He leans in, meets my eyes. "Do you mean to tell meyouhad that under control? BecauseIsure fucking didn't."
"Fair," I concede, arms still folded, but I soften a little. "I'm worried this is going to be harder than I imagined."
There's something I can't quite read behind his eyes when he says, "You and me both."
CHAPTER 17
OFF THE LEASH
GREY
It takes every single solitary ounce of my will not to kiss Molly again.
By some miracle, we make it through a day of work, an evening of cooking, and dinner. Putting a table between us helps. The fact that she's honored the stop I put in place does too. Still, the wordsrain checkhave been on the tip of my tongue all day, just in case.
It hasn't stopped her from looking at me like she's never seen a meal. And I haven't shaken the memory of her pressed against my cock while I lost myself in the heat of her mouth. The way her body felt against mine. The way she trusted me, gave herself over to the feeling, to me.
I am in such deep shit. There aren't enough shovels.
But it's too late. I've committed. It might ruin me, but I won't let her down--. It's a risk I've agreed to take, hell or high water.
I know--I'm a regular small-town hero. Twist my fucking arm.
The tension between us coils as I follow her to the front door. I've been dreading this moment and desperate for it since I plucked her off my lap and put her ass back in her chair where my cock couldn't get to her. I don't know why I'm surprised or what the fuck I thought was going to happen when I agreed to it, not that I was thinking when I said I'd do it.
But the thought of another man touching her? The other option being that some stupid motherfucker would put their hands on her--for her firsteverything.Probably some shitass who couldn't find his way out of a paper bag, never mind find a clitoris. Even a whisper of thethoughtof it sends another shocking flash of fury through me.
She deserves better than that. She deserves everything. And as torturous as it is and forever will be,I'mgonna be the man who gives this to her. Assuming I don't have a coronary in the process.
Molly stops at the door, looking at me like she doesn't want me to go. I don't want to go either. She's shy but smiling. I want to touch her lips with deep, disturbing desperation.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, hoping I sound cool.
