“You’ve been on my mind, Grace. More than I’d like.”
His admission makes me pause, and his touch makes my skin heat. His hands move along my sides, down my back. Neverstilling. Always moving, like he’s feeling for me. His thumb finding the skin under my jacket, circling, exploring.
With a thick swallow, I push up on my toes and press my lips to his ear. “What exactly has been on your mind?”
His body goes rigid, his thumb finally settling.
“The shot I took at you?” I murmur. “The state of your house when I left? Or was it Friday night? When you had your fingers between my legs?”
“All of it,” he rasps. “But that last one has stuck a little more than the others.”
Hand between my legs, fingers inside me, dominating grip at my throat. I might not like who Decker turned into afterward, but that moment between us has been replaying in my head for the last forty-eight hours. I can’t help it. My mind keeps fixating on what might have happened had we not been disturbed, what he’d have felt like inside me, how hard he’d have fucked me.
Decker is watching me with a ferocious intensity. And I can’t help myself. I brush my lips against his. Then I pull back, waiting. For a moment, he just stares, eyes searching mine. Then he grips my chin roughly and pulls me into a kiss.
And god.
God.
His fucking kiss. It’s demanding, punishing. He dominates every corner of my mouth, causing goose bumps to rush over my skin, heat to pool in the pit of my belly. Pulling back, he tugs my bottom lip with his teeth. Then he takes a breath and dives back in, one hand finding my ass, the other tightening around my throat as he yanks me to his chest.
Decker takes my mouth like it fucking belongs to him.
And I think it might. A man who moves his lips like this, his tongue? I’d let him own whatever part of me he likes if it meant showing me what else he could do with that ungodly mouth of his.
Circling my arms around his waist, I move my hands under his shirt and explore the hard ridges of his abdomen. Lightly, I drag my nails over his skin, moving lower, teasing the edge of his jeans.
A deep growl rumbles up his throat, the sound sending a pool of heat rushing between my legs. If I’m not careful, I’ll get sucked up in this. Lost. Consumed. Though this kiss has got me thinking that maybe being consumed by Lincoln Decker wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I break away and splay a hand over his pec, pushing back, my chest bouncing as I try to find my breath.
“That was one hell of a kiss,” he says, his words ragged.
Tilting my head, I say, “Take off your jacket.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “I didn’t bring you here for that.”
“I know. But like you said, the lastwalkwe took together worked out for me. Maybe I want to return the favour.”
He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he unzips his jacket and tosses it to the ground.
“Now your shirt,” I direct.
Without bothering to pause this time, he pulls it off, revealing all those perfect muscles I can’t seem to clean from my mind.
I again examine his skin, hands wandering over his broad chest and the raised gash slicing down the center of it, then lower, to the washboard etched into his abdomen.
He watches my every move, focus fixed on my travelling fingers. Decker is built like a fucking god. If I wasn’t still a little hurt, a little pissed, I might spend a little more time touching him. Maybe even get on my knees like I implied I would and even the score. Instead, while I’ve got him distracted, I dig my hand into the front pocket of his jeans and scoop up my keys. And his.
He doesn’t notice. Because with my other hand, I’m undoing his belt and pulling open his zipper.
I step back, keys safely tucked into my closed fist, and give him a sweet smile. “Pants down.” When he complies, pants at his ankles, I say. “Underwear too.”
Slowly, he tugs, sliding them down his hips. Lower. Lower still. Revealing tamed black curls, the top of his?—
He stops abruptly, and I dare a look at his face. It’s marred with suspicion all of a sudden. Like he knows what I’m about to do.
“Gracie,” he growls.
