Page 61 of Spock’s Snare

I’ve kissed plenty of women. I’ve never been consumed by one until now.

Chloe kisses like she does everything else—with determination, passion, and no half-measures. Whatever nervousness she felt when she entered my room disappears as she presses closer and meets every stroke of my tongue with one of her own.

My hand slides up her side, my thumb brushing the underside of her breast. She shudders against me, and the reaction feeds the fire raging inside me.

But I remember what I promised myself. Trust comes first. She comes first. So, I ease back before desire obliterates every rational thought in my head.

Chloe follows me for a second, her lips seeking mine, before her eyes flutter open. We stand locked together, both of us breathing hard. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes burn with a hunger that matches my own.

Neither of us speaks as we stare into each other’s eyes.

With determination, Chloe slides her hands under my kutte to slip it off my shoulders. Instinctively, she keeps it from falling. Instead, she carefully hangs it on the hook that exists for that very purpose. How could I have gotten so lucky to find someone who respects what is important to me? I’m desperate for her to trust me, but at the same time, she’s showing me that I can trust her. That’s a heady combination.

She continues to undress me. Her fingers move tentatively at first, but then with more urgency as she slips my shirt up and over my head. She gulps as she takes in my chest. I hide my smirk, even as I crow inside at the desire I see in her chocolate eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SPOCK

My fingers find the edges of Spock’s kutte, and I ease the heavy leather from his broad shoulders. For a moment, I simply hold it, feeling the weight of it in my hands.

This isn’t merely something he wears. The patches stitched into the leather tell the world who he is, where he belongs, and what he’s earned. His club is his family. His brothers are men he trusts with his life—and the snarling Demon Dawgs emblem on the back carries every vow he’s ever made to them.

I don’t toss it over a chair or drop it on the end of the bed.

There’s a sturdy hook mounted on the wall beside the door, and I imagine it was placed there for this exact purpose. I carefully hang his kutte on it, smoothing my palm over one leather shoulder before turning back to him.

He’s watching me with an intensity that heats my skin. His eyes track over my features, but he doesn’t reach for me. He’s still giving me control, letting me decide how far this goes and how quickly we get there.

The realization loosens something in my chest.

I grip the hem of his black T-shirt. My knuckles brush the warm skin above his waistband, and his stomach tightens beneath my touch.

“Arms up,” I whisper.

One corner of his mouth lifts, but he obeys.

I draw the shirt slowly over his torso, revealing hard ridges of muscle inch by inch. His chest is broad, his shoulders powerful, and his abdomen is carved with the kind of definition that comes from working with his body rather than spending time in the gym. Dark ink curves over his skin, adding another layer to the dangerous man standing before me.

Once the shirt clears his head, I let it slip from my fingers to the floor.

For several heartbeats, all I can do is stare.

I knew Spock was muscular. I’ve felt that strength every time I’ve wrapped myself around him on his motorcycle and every time he’s placed himself between me and danger. Seeing him like this is different. Nothing is separating me from all that warm skin and solid muscle.

My gaze travels over him without apology.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice rough.

I raise my eyes to his. “I’m still deciding.”

His quiet laugh rumbles through the room, but it catches when I place both palms against his bare chest.

Heat pours into my hands. Beneath them, his heart beats hard and fast, proving I’m not the only one affected.

I flatten my fingers against him and allow myself to admire every magnificent inch. “Who am I kidding?” I murmur. “I decided the moment that shirt came off.” Rising on my toes, I brush my lips against his. That’s all it takes for his control to snap.

It’s only a peck—a soft, tentative touch meant to test the heat simmering between us.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest as his arms lock around me. He yanks me flush against him, eliminating every sliver of space between our bodies, and crushes his mouth to mine.