Without answering, I stand and pull on the zip of my skirt and, with an exaggerated shimmy, slide it over my hips, anticipation chasing the fabric across my skin. As I step from its dark pool, his look of dark triumph makes my insides churn.
‘I’m pleased you aren’t a sore loser.’ His voice is low in register, his words smooth, like water running over rocks.
‘Who says I’m losing?’ In two sensuous strides, I’m standing between his splayed legs. ‘And who says I’m—’
‘Sore?’ he finishes as I climb astride his lap. ‘Maybe not yet.’ He brushes the hair from my face, an act so very tender compared to what he does next. Hand wrapped around the back of my neck, he pulls me down to him. ‘Because a gentleman can always be tempted.’
My eyes roll closed as his mouth moves to my neck where he groans the word, ‘Deep.’
‘Water,’ I answer as, his hands on my hips, he swallows my word with a kiss.
‘Chastise.’ His tone is even, but I’m not fooled. That isn’t indifference I feel between my thighs.
‘Thrilling.’ And I mean it. I want it all—I want him.
‘Im—pact.’ He punctuates the word with a slap against my ass, our bodies clashing with the blow. My arms slide around his neck, for fear I’ll be swept away.
‘Whimper.’ My voice sounds strangled as I peel away from his chest when his hand tightens on my numb yet smarting skin.
‘Bruise.’ The word is almost a question as his large hand squeezes again.
‘Badge.’ This one is on instinct as I close my eyes and imagine it there. A handprint, red and distinct. Fingers splayed. To be viewed the next day for private pleasure another day.
‘Arse.’ His hand tightens against my flesh as if he can’t get enough of it.
‘British.’ Another answer purely on instinct; I school my face, expecting a pithy comment, but I’m startled by his laughter instead.
‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘I like the way you say ass,’ I reply simply.
‘And I likeyourarse.’ He grabs it again, this time with both hands. ‘What I would do to it,’ he growls, running his fingers down to where my cheek meets thigh. ‘Fingers.’ This sounds like a deliberation. I want certainty.
‘Get off,’ I reply somewhere between a groan and a sigh. This isn’t an instruction to stop.
‘That’s two words,’ he chastises, teasing the slip of lace between my legs.Teasing the edge of my control.
‘Don’t care.’ I offer him two more. Desperate, my lace-covered chest heaves under his nose as his fingers catch the elastic seam of my panties and slip inside.
‘Wet,’ he growls as his finger sweeps my seam. We both feel the evidence of it—hear the slick sound of my desire.
‘Wanting.’ The atmosphere around us thickens, banding us together with lust.
‘Wanting what, I wonder?’ He barely moves his finger, yet wetness still pools between my legs.
‘You,’ I moan, lowering myself onto his hand.
‘Fuck.’ Savage and hard, he spits the word out, his need rising along with mine.
‘Heaven!’ I cry out as his fingers push deep inside.
My arms still linked around his neck, I melt into him, over him—cling to him like glue. He holds me there with one arm tight around my waist. His fingers work between my legs; my muscles tightening in testament to how much I want this. His hand slides from my waist and grabs my ponytail, pulling and tilting my head to one side.
‘Sadistic,’ he grates out, his jaw flexing and his eyes burning bright.
‘Affection.’ Another word on instinct, my mind purely absent, my body in charge ofallthe things.
‘Bedroom,’ he growls, and all I can respond with is a hissed,‘Yes.’
