She smirks but doesn’t answer. Instead, she opens the box, wrestles with the plastic bag inside, and finally, when she gets it open, she pours two large bowls. “You told me I needed to learn how to dance …” She slides the bowl of cereal toward me, then steps backward, holding my gaze. “You bid on me tonight. It’s only fair you get a show Congressman.”
“Thea … What?—”
“Nuh-uh, Congressman DuPont.” She brings her index finger to her lips, pursing them gently. “Shh. It’s time for silence. You can do that. Can’t you?”
My eyes widen at her sultry tone, and I can’t help but sit up straighter when she slides a hand up the side of her neck, tilting it back to allow her fingers to brush her jaw. Her lashes flutter before closing, and while there’s no music, I can’t help but think she’s conjuring some in her head as she sways her hips. It’s slow and hesitant at first, but then her hips dip side to side. Her hands move down over her stomach, and I can’t help but imagine the feel of her from the couch those weeks ago. She touches her ribs and waist, her fingers curling around the hem of her bottom lingerie and twisting with a slight tease.
My mouth is dry, and the cereal in front of me forgotten. Actually—I shove the bowl out of my way with my forearm as I lean forward, doing my best to stay in my seat.
Hell. What is happening? What is she doing to me?
Her eyes flicker to mine, and she studies my face, her gaze dipping to where my jaw is clenched, then to where my right hand is choking the chair arm. At that, she tugs her lower lip into her mouth and turns, arching her back and unclipping the portion of her hair pulled back. She lets it down, shaking it. The curls brush against her bare back, and it makes my lungs forget how to breathe.
“Is this okay, Congressman?”
“Damn it, Thea.”
She glances over her shoulder, and the provocative smirk on her lips dies into a frown. She sighs and turns away from me, looking at the wall. “You’re right. I’m no good at this.”
What?“Then why am I one second away from making a mess of you?”
She turns around, looking at me with a burning that begs, that demands. Her chest rises and falls faster. When one strap slips off her shoulder, my own breaths become suffocating. I revel in her vulnerability and power working side by side, rendering me undone. I don’t want to stand, don’t want to move, yet all I want to do is reach for her. Her hips roll again, and I trace all her curves.
When she slowly dips into a crouch, moving on her hands and knees, I want to destroy something.
“Should I crawl to you?” Her eyes are wide and eager.
No.
I snap.
Standing, the chair crashes behind me, the crack of wood splitting the hushed silence as it hits the floor, but I don’t look back, nor do I care. I stalk toward her, and she freezes, moving to sit back on her heels and looking up as I approach. Her lips part, as if she’s about to say something.
I can barely think. Her hips. Her mouth. Her.
When I reach her, I wrap a hand around her jaw enough to tilt her face to mine. My fingers flex around the edge of her cheek, thumb brushing her mouth as she blinks up at me.
My entire body shakes. My chest is tight—this must be what a heart attack feels like because my body is warm and wired. Alive with a coiling that makes me want to do the wrong things. Be the wrong person. So delicate, so beautiful. Like a dandelion. One huff, I could shatter her.
I pull her up. “Thea, you crawl for no one.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THEA
Slade pushes me up against the wall, one hand on my throat, gently squeezing until my breath hitches into a whimpering moan. The other hand grabs my wrist and pins it above my head. I lick my lips, and my pulse rattles, thumping wildly.
His jaw clenches and unclenches as I wait for him to decide what to do with me. I wanted to push him. Annoyed he didn’t listen to me, I wanted to punish him, but I think my wounds are self-inflicted because I want him. I’ve been wanting him.
His lips meet mine, and the hand holding onto my wrist trembles so hard it slips. Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist, hauling me against him. His kiss is all heat and racing touches. He can’t touch enough of me, so he urges me closer to the wall, and I break from his kiss to gather air with a gasp. He moves to my neck, the warmth of his mouth nipping and licking my mind into oblivion.
He drops, scooping me up in his arms, opening the door before he tilts me through the threshold. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he carries me upstairs. The cold air of the house claws at my exposed back, and all the hair on my arms stands on end when he leans forward to swallow my breath once more.
His mouth is devastating.
Our kiss is messy, teeth and tongues giving and taking. He carries me straight to his suite, kicking the door closed behind us.
A greater ache blooms when he lays me on the bed before him. He hovers over the end, taking me in.
