His touch is a brand. A claim.
And my body, my stupid, treacherous body, responds instantly, a jolt of desire so intense it makes me dizzy.
“You wanted to know what I’m doing,” he says, his thumb stroking a slow, maddening circle on my skin. “I’m showing you.”
His hand moves higher, a slow glide up my thigh, pushing the fabric of the dress aside, baring more of me to the cool air and to his burning gaze.
My brain is screaming at me to stop him.
He moves closer, but he doesn't kiss me. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. The sensation is so light, so delicate, it’s a shock.
“Tell me to stop, Elsa." He breathes my name like a prayer.
I can’t.
I can’t find the words. My throat is tight, my lungs burning, my body trembling with a confusing, chaotic mix of fear and desire.
I want him to stop.
I want him to never stop.
His hand slides higher, pushing the dress further up my thigh, until his fingers are tracing the line of my stocking top, brushing against the delicate strap of my garter.
“Tell me,” he whispers, and his breath is hot against my skin, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
He presses his mouth to my neck, a soft, open-mouthed kiss that makes my head fall back, a silent surrender.
His fingers hook into the strap of my garter. A small, deliberate tug. An undeniable promise.
My hips lift off the chair, a tiny, involuntary movement, a desperate, pleading arch of my body.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a dark, predatory sound that makes my whole body clench.
That brings my head back around to the reason I'm here.
No, damn it. No, I'm not letting him win.
Chapter Fifteen
Antonio
Her head tips back, allowing me better access, baring her throat to me like an offering.
Triumph hits me first, hot and immediate, then lust pools low in my belly. My hand stays on her thigh, fingers spread on the skin the slit gives me, and I feel the fine tremor running through her. She’s trying to look composed. She’s failing. I can work with that.
I drag my mouth along the line of her jaw slowly. I take my time with it, because time is control, and she’s been trying to claw that from me all night with that dress and that mouth.
“Elsa,” I murmur against her skin, voice low enough that it belongs only to her.
Her breath catches—and I feel the tiny hitch that tells me I’m exactly where she didn’t want me to be.
I press my lips to the hollow beneath her ear, open-mouthed, lingering. She smells seductive, the kind of perfume that clings to a man’s shirt afterward and makes him think about it all day.
My thumb strokes once on her thigh—one slow circle—because I’m not in a hurry to ruin her. I want her aware. I want her choosing it.
I smile against her throat anyway and let my teeth graze her skin—barely there, a warning.
Her throat works. She swallows. I feel it under my mouth, and it makes my grip tighten on her thigh.
