Not as she reaches for her glass before it falls.
Not as my empty bottle of Pilsner teeters, then clatters against the floor.
Not as her gaze returns to mine full of challenge.
‘So you’ve moved an obstacle. A physical thing. Big whoop. You’ll note I’ve yet to jump your bones...’
Yet.
Her words trail off, her eyes widening as she tips her head, watching me as I stand. But I don’t move to her yet. I just feed my hand over my shoulder, grip a fistful of my thin sweater and yank it up and over my head. I drop it to the floor without a word. We don’t need them. All we need to know is written in the unspoken. It’s in the fresh bloom in her cheeks and the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip. It’s in the heat of her gaze before she lowers her lashes, hiding it. And it’s in the rasp of my breath as I run my hand down my chest, farther across the ridges of my stomach, until I reach my belt.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice wavers. Is it from nervousness or need?
‘What was it you called me?’
‘I’ve called you lots of things. And most of them uncomplimentary.’ The words are the same, but her tone is less strident. It lacks conviction and strength as though the air around us has absorbed the need to fight. To win.
‘You said I was an incitement. A provocation. I suppose I’m living up to the way you’ve painted me.’
‘You moved the table, but you haven’t made your point. Put your sweater back on.’ As she lifts the glass to her lips, there’s a tremor in her hand.
I bend and take it from her swiftly, depositing it fuck knows where as I pull her up swiftly by her other hand. It all happens so fast she doesn’t have time to protest. And I realise she won’t as our bodies collide, and she gasps.
She tilts her head, her lips parted as though gifting me prior consent as her eyelids flutter closed. Like the little girl who doesn’t want to admit to herself and instead chooses to hide.
‘Open your eyes,’ I demand, pulling her body into mine, pulling the place where she’s all heat and softness into where I’m aching and hard. My God, I need to be inside her, to possess her completely, if only for a little while.
Her lashes flutter open, and I get such a visceral reaction seeing the dark depths of those bedroom eyes—the want and the need—before our lips finally meet. This was never going to be a tentative meet, but grasping and possessive. We kiss as we live and as we breathe. Deeper and wetter, our tongues tangle and our teeth clash. My hand slides into her hair, my mouth skimming her neck and biting the soft flesh there.
‘You need some sense fucked into you.’
‘Really.’
‘By someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘You’d better add that job to the list of your hires.’ With the taunt, she slides her hand between us, cupping my balls.
‘Make no mistake,’ I rasp, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. My balls throb, missing the contact immediately. I bring her hand to my mouth with a dark look. Kiss her palm. Bite her fingertip. ‘When this finally happens, here will be no recovering from it.’ And with a growl I can’t restrain, I take her face in my hands as I proceed to kiss the fuck out of her.
Breath ragged, my words are as husky as my kisses are wet. The scent of her is addictive, her skin as smooth as silk. I can’t wait to taste her—to really taste her. And don’t ask me how I know, but when the time finally comes, I know she’ll taste this goodeverywhere.
‘Beckett.’ A whisper, a breath. An enticement.Her incitement. ‘We could do it now.’
‘You want to have sex? Fuck? Make love?’
‘Yes!’ she breathes.
‘You want me on my knees, eating you out?’
‘Stop talking.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. You’re not wriggling out of our contract.’ Not when we’re so close.
‘What if I say I can’t wait that long,’ she half moans as I lower her against the sofa. As I cover her with my body, heat pulses low in my belly, my hands itching to strip her out of her clothes. She feels so small under me, and I wonder if I’m crushing her, but as she wraps her legs around my thighs, the heat of her pussy through her trousers steals the rest of my thoughts.
‘Don’t make me beg,’ she murmurs, moulding her mouth to mine, her whispers as sweet as her breath, her lips shiny and pink.
‘That would be something to see,’ I rasp out. ‘But waiting is character building.’
