Brielle
“I need a drink first,”I tell him, walking over to the nightstand, where I left my whiskey sour, knowing I would need it.
“No, you don’t,” he says, blocking me from grabbing it.
“Um, yes, I do.”
Before I have sex, I always have alcohol to take the edge off, and Theo never once questioned me.
“No, you don’t,” Kane repeats. “You said you need control, and I’m giving it to you. But you’re going to do it sober.”
“I was drinking downstairs,” I point out.
“You were nursing one. You’re fine.”
My hands shake as I eye the drink, wanting to push past him and down it. It’s what I used to numb myself the first time I had sex after being raped, and I’ve continued the habit ever since.
“Brielle,” Kane says, pinching my chin, “it’s just you and me. Now, tell me what you want from me.”
“I want you to take my clothes off.”
“That I can definitely do.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and then stalks over to me. Without my heels on, he towers a good six inches over my five-foot-six self.
That is, until he drops to his knees in front of me and lifts thebottom of my dress up. He takes his time, gliding his hands up my legs, until he gets to the waistband of my panties. Rather than pull them down, he runs one of his fingers along the edge, and goose bumps prickle my skin.
“Your skin is soft,” he murmurs. “And your body is toned. Do you work out?”
“Pilates,” I answer. “And a little strength training.”
I started working out as a stress reliever when I moved to Russia to live with my grandparents. But I continued to do it after my grandparents passed away and Dominick insisted that I move home. Since I have no idea what I want to do with my life, it helps fill the ample amount of time I have on my hands, and if I’m honest, I love it.
Kane hooks his fingers around the edge of my panties and slides them down my legs, touching every inch of my flesh with his fingertips, until they reach the floor.
Once he sets them to the side, he stands, his body so close to mine that I can smell his scent—fresh, warm, and with a hint of spice. Most men drown themselves in cologne, but with Kane, it’s so subtle that you almost can’t smell it unless you’re as close as we are.
“Arms up,” he says.
For a second, I’m confused, having been so lost in the way he smelled that I forgot what he was doing.
But then I remember he’s undressing me. So, I lift my arms above my head, and he pulls the fabric up my body. It’s a short-sleeved, floral-printed, shirred-waist dress, so it comes off easily, leaving me in only my bra.
His eyes go straight to my breasts, his tongue sliding across the seam of his lips, and I find myself clenching my thighs in anticipation of what’s to come.
When he leans in to unhook the clasp of my bra, I feel his lips press a soft kiss to the top of my cleavage, and it takes everything in me not to wrap my hands around the back of his head and beg him to keep kissing me there.
With my bra off, the cool air caresses my breasts, and my nipplesgrow hard. Kane must notice because the heat that overtakes his gaze could warm the coldest night.
Maybe he could have just a taste. I mean, I am the one in charge …
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Have a lick. But only one.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. He takes my breast into his large hand and wraps his lips around the beaded tip, giving it one lick—literally—before he gives the other one attention.
Between his gentle caress and the heady feeling of me being in charge and him complying, I find myself squirming in my spot, more turned on than I can remember ever being.
I knew when I was with Theo, something was amiss. I felt out of control, constrained. But I didn’t fully get it until now. When Kane listens to me, my stomach tightens, and my pussy throbs.
