Текст книги "The Rules According to Cracie "

Автор книги: Stefanie London

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Chapter Five

He had to keep his hands busy, and serving drinks at First on a Saturday afternoon was the ticket. If he didn’t distract himself, he was at severe risk of calling Gracie again and leaving another gruff, pointless voicemail. Not that it mattered—she hadn’t returned the first one, so why would she return a second?

Reaching for a bottle of tequila, Des poured a row of five shots for a group of girls in matching pink T-shirts. The bachelorette party was already looking messy, and one of the girls winked suggestively at him as he slid the shots over to their side of the bar. The other men ogled the girls in their tighter-than-tight T-shirts and matching skin-tight jeans, but all he could think was how none of them held a candle to Gracie.

“Not your type?” Paul took a not-so-subtle look at the girls.

Des walked over to the shelves where the spirits were housed and shook his head. “Not my type at all.”

“Then you won’t mind if I strike up a conversation with the blond one?” Paul was a ladies man, and he liked his ladies forward and fair-haired. Lucky for him, First was full of his type over the weekend.

“Whatever you do on your own time is up to you, bud, but you’re on the clock, so don’t even think about it.”

“You’re such a buzz kill.” Paul flipped a bottle of vodka and poured a shot into the cocktail shaker in front of him.

Des often wondered how he and Paul were related—they were chalk and cheese, despite having identical mops of dark hair, darker eyes, and a shared affinity for home cooked Italian food. The younger Chapman brother was his opposite in almost every way—Paul thrived on fast and frequent rotations of the women in his life. He avoided responsibility and seemed quite content to float through life without ambition. He was a good person at the heart of it all, but Des often found himself wishing his brother would grow up and take charge of his life.

“I’m running a business, Paul.” He rearranged the bottles that had been carelessly stacked out of order. “Not a personal pick-up service.”

“Hey, don’t take your frustrations out on me.” Paul said, vigorously shaking the cocktail shaker and putting on a show for the ladies sitting at the bar. “Not my fault you refuse to get laid.”

“Not all of us have the desire to fuck anything that moves.”

Paul put his palm to his chest. “That hurts. You know I only go for blondes.” He opened the cocktail shaker and poured the pink milky liquid into two tulip-shaped glasses. He pressed a wedge of lime onto the rim of each glass and signalled to a waiter.

“Seriously, Des, this is becoming a problem. The staff are tiptoeing around you because you’re such a cranky bastard right now.” Paul clapped a hand on Des’s back. “Let me help you out. I’m sure one of those lovely ladies would be more than happy to help you let go of some of that negativity. You can have the brunette…or the redhead. Or both.”

“I’m not interested.” Des shrugged off his brother’s hand and continued to rearrange the spirit shelf.

“No, because you’re too hung up on that girl who brings all her dates here.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see what’s wrong with that picture?”

“I’m not hung up on her.”

“Bullshit. Whenever she comes in you watch her like a hawk and get all moony when she finally gets rid of her guy.” Paul plucked an order from the bar and started working on the next round of cocktails. “It’s pathetic. If you like her, why don’t you take her out?”

Paul didn’t know about his trip to the market with Gracie, which was probably for the best. He wouldn’t understand something more complicated than a screw-and-dash. Paul kept his dalliances frequent and varied but brief above all else.

His younger brother had barely entered his twenties when Des’s engagement had fallen apart, and he had been there to ply Des with alcohol until he forgot. His brother was the one who’d helped him wallow, then pushed him to get back out into the dating field, and had supported his idea to open First. He might be the most irresponsible person Des knew, but his brother had stuck by him through a lot of crappy times.

Would he be asking Paul to do that all again if he kept chasing what he couldn’t have?

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah it is.” Paul nodded towards the bar. “She’s right there. Ask her out.”

Gracie hovered by the bar. She looked different; her olive skin was clear and glowing, her wild curls restrained into a neat bun on top of her head. There were no dangly earrings, no rose-colored lips, and she wore jeans and a simple white shirt. He’d never seen her in jeans before.

“I didn’t recognize you, Gracie.” He sauntered over, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed as he drank her in. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders the last few days melted away, his chest loosened, and the world felt right again.

“I wanted to talk.” Her dark brows gathered. He got the feeling this was Gracie’s game face, though she still looked cute as hell.

“Shoot.”

“In private.”

Des nodded and motioned for her to come to the other end of the bar. He held the swing door open and let her into the serving area. She followed him to the office. The space felt even more cramped than usual with Gracie next to him; her glorious vanilla scent was intoxicating in the open air, let alone when they were confined in what was essentially a glorified cupboard.

He motioned for Gracie to take the office chair and he locked the door behind them. The last thing he wanted was anyone barging in when he finally had Gracie to himself. Leaning against the desk next to her, he said, “Talk to me.”

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for the other night, and for not taking your call. I was still processing what happened.”

“The date?”

“Well, the kiss more specifically.” Her cheeks colored again, though this time the blush spread all the way down to the open collar of her white shirt. “And that I took your words out of context.”

“How so?”

“You said we could be ‘right for now.’ I assumed you viewed me as a one-night stand.”

Des nodded slowly, holding his tongue so she had her opportunity to get it all out.

“And,” she continued, “that was me jumping the gun. You never mentioned anything about sleeping together. You only invited me to your place. I don’t know why my mind went there and it was rude of me to say something like that.”

“Gracie.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, the heat of her skin simmering underneath the thin cotton. “I did invite you back to my place because I wanted to sleep with you.”

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ and she fiddled with one of her pearl earrings.

Des leaned back, dropping his hands to his lap. “That doesn’t mean I think of you as a one-night stand. But it also doesn’t mean I’ve stopped fantasizing about getting you naked.”

“Oh.” She flamed brighter still, then lowered her eyes as she nodded her head slowly. “Well…at least you’re honest.”

“That I am.” He chuckled. “Perhaps you’re more innocent than I thought.”

“Why do you say that?” Her eyes snapped back up to his and she pursed her lips.

She looked prim as a society wife with her pearl earrings and white shirt. If it weren’t for the high gloss and spike heel of her black pumps, he’d have thought he was looking at another woman entirely.

“Call it a gut feeling.”

She dragged her lower lip between her teeth and Des averted his eyes. Without the wild hair, jangling jewellery, and sassy attitude, she looked younger, more vulnerable. He’d never once suspected she hid behind those things, but seeing her now was like witnessing her stripped back to her essence.

Protective urges flared within him, but he resisted…he had to. There was no way he’d take advantage of a moment of her weakness or insecurity. He certainly wouldn’t start something unless she gave him the okay, even if he was about to spontaneously combust. He gripped the hard edge of the desk, anchoring himself.

“Looks like you’ve figured me out,” she said, her tone even and guarded. “I’m Gracie Greene: conservative, innocent, and inexperienced. My mother is desperate to marry me off because she thinks I’m going to turn into a spinster and all she cares about is amassing grandchildren. I date guys who are wrong for me, and the one guy I do have a connection with has realized what a fraud I am.”

The sting in her words pierced Des’s chest. She sounded downtrodden, as though she expected dismissal.

“You’re not a fraud.” Des reached for her hands and pulled her up so she stood between his legs. “Don’t let your family get into your head, you’re young—there’s nothing wrong with being single.”

“The sad thing is, I don’t want to be single, but as soon as I bring someone home, Mother will be calling the wedding planner and picking out strollers.”

“Then don’t bring anyone home.” He sighed. “Gracie, it’s your life. You make the decisions, you call the shots, and you can tell her how it is.”

“It’s not that easy.” She shook her head.

“Yeah, it is.” He cupped her face with both hands. “It’s about time you started doing things for you.”

She closed her eyes and stepped closer to him, until her slender hips nestled right between his thighs. He hardened and cursed internally. It took every ounce of restraint not to tear open her shirt. He wanted to hear the pinging of her buttons as they flew across the room. He wanted to bury his face in that flawless satin skin of hers. But he sat still, daring only for a shallow breath lest he inadvertently rub against her.

“Did you miss the part where I said you were the one guy I had a connection with?” She speared him with one soul-searching look. A shy smile curved her lips at the corners.

“You didn’t explicitly say you were referring to me,” he teased. Her dark gaze scorched him, unblinking as she waited for him. “I didn’t miss it.”

How could he have missed something like that? His cock ached to be inside her. He’d thought of nothing else but holding her tight while he pleasured her over and over. It kept him awake each night, until he tossed and turned himself to sleep.

“What if I said I wanted to explore that connection a little further?”

God help him, he was about to break. “How?”

“With my hands,” she said, running her palms up his thighs towards the section where his erection was clearly pressing against his jeans. His mind swam as her fingertips skated near the spot he wanted her to touch most.

“With my mouth.” She leaned forward and pressed her sweet lips to his neck.

Fire shot through his system, his neck heated by her kiss. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. Her vanilla perfume and the subtle scent of shampoo in her hair combined to assault his senses.

“With my body.” Her lips brushed his ear. The whispered words pushed him to the edge. She wrapped her hands around his and brought them to her hips, her lashes fluttering as he gripped her tight.

“Last chance to back out,” he said, each word torture as he held himself in check.

She shook her head, and he reached for the ornate pin that held her bun in place. Slowly, as though prolonging their desire to the last possible moment, he slid the pin from her hair and watched it tumble in a glorious mane around her shoulders. He set the pin down and ran his hands up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through the layers that curled and kinked every which way.

He dipped a finger into the waistband of her jeans, tugging out the neatly tucked shirt and running a knuckle across the taut skin on her stomach. She gasped as his hand moved to her zipper, drawing it open and pushing the soft denim down her legs until she kicked off her heels and stepped out of the jeans.

He watched as she stood there, her thighs pressed together and her hands fluttering by her sides. “I want to remember this picture for a long time.”

A smile twitched on her lips. Her nails—lacquered red—caught the light of the lamp beside him.

“Don’t take too long. I might lose my nerve.” She held out her hand and he took it, running his thumb over each ridge of her knuckles in turn. He brought it to his lips and kissed her gently. “No one is going to come in here… Are they?”

“You’re safe with me, Gracie Greene.” He let go of her hand. “Undress for me.”

Her hands came to the shirt button at her collarbone. She carefully pushed the small pearl through its loop. With each button opened, an inch more of her was exposed. Watching the slow reveal of her breasts was the most on edge Des had ever been. His breathing was shallow, his pulse hammering a staccato beat in his chest.

As the refined cream lace of her bra was exposed, Des reached out to run his fingertips along the scalloped edge. “Beautiful.”

He’d never been so in awe of a woman before, yet there was something special about the way Gracie was showing herself to him. She was entrusting him with her body and it was something sacred.

With every ounce of control exhausted, Des pulled Gracie to him and sought her mouth with a burning intensity. As his tongue met hers she sighed against him, her hands threading through his hair and tugging. She tasted of peaches, her teeth nipping at his lower lip between kisses.

Hooking his fingers into the soft cup of her bra, he dragged the fabric down so her breast sprang free. It was perfect; round, pert, and more than enough to spill over his palm. He brushed the hard bud of her nipple with the pad of his thumb, delighting in the husky moan that escaped her lips. Her breath was hot against his cheek and he rolled the bud gently—tweaking, tugging, and flicking at a leisurely pace.

She pressed herself against him, grinding into his parted legs so that his erection strained harder against the fly of his jeans. He wanted her badly, he wanted to throw her down on his desk and make her cry out his name. Except there was the small problem of the hundred plus people on the other side of the office door.

He pushed the worry from his mind. With Gracie’s curves beneath his hands he didn’t want to think about anything else, about anyone else. He drew her nipple between his lips, scraping the hardened peak gently with his teeth. She gasped, her knees wobbling. Des clamped his thighs around her so she was supported while her head rolled back, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“Touch me, Des.” She drew his hand to the wisp of cream lace that concealed her most sacred part. “Please.”

A thump on the door broke them apart and Gracie clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Des?” the young, male voice on the other side of the door sounded wary. “You still in there?”

“What is it?” Des growled as he pushed up from the desk and went to the door without opening it. “Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“Sorry man, I don’t think it can.”

Des opened the door only enough so that he could shield the office with his body.

“There’s a problem with one of the customers.” His trainee barman’s face was pinched and two men exchanged words on the other side of the bar. “How could you not hear them?”

“Where’s Paul?” Des scanned the bar. His brother was nowhere to be found.

The young barman shrugged. “There was a blond girl…”

He sighed. “I’ll take care of it.”

Fuck.

Chapter Six

Gracie stood in the middle of Des Chapman’s office in her underwear, with god knows how many people on the other side of a flimsy wall, and she hadn’t had a single drink. Emmaline’s words had unlocked something inside her—a desire to do something for the sake of pleasure. Something reckless and irresponsible and so not her.

What the hell am I doing?

Her body ached, burned, throbbed, and soared in more ways than she knew possible. She could still feel the pressure of his lips around her nipple, the hardness of his excitement between her legs. Stifling a groan, Gracie pressed her thighs together to stop the pulsing there…but it didn’t abate.

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath as the confidence seeped out of her.

She was making a mistake…a huge one. Des was forbidden fruit and she’d come this close to taking a bite. She didn’t do quickies in a public place. She didn’t throw herself at unsuitable men.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Trembling hands made the fiddly buttons on her shirt a nightmare and she let out a steadying breath before continuing. She was zipping up her jeans when Des walked back into his office.

He raked a hand through his hair. The stubborn waves sprang back into position as soon as he released them. “Don’t go.”

“I shouldn’t have done this.” Her voice trembled as she bent down, scooping up her heels from where they lay, overturned, on the floor. She slipped her shoes on and folded her arms across her chest.

“Gracie…”

“This is your place of work.”

“It’s my business. I’m not going to fire myself and with some of the shit the guys pull, no one here is going to say anything.”

“Do they all know what we were doing?” A wave of nausea rolled through her. If only the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

Twenty-seven years old and she’d never been caught kissing a boy, let alone been caught with both proverbial and literal pants down. She brought her hands up to her cheeks and closed her eyes.

“Of course not.” He swaggered over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “However, if you’re the one making all the noise, I can’t be held responsible for that.”

“Oh, no.” Shame washed over her. Had she been moaning loud enough to breach the walls of the office? When his lips connected with her breast it was like her whole world went blank. She could have been doing anything. “Please stop.”

It wasn’t like she was some virginal innocent. She’d had a lot of sex, but most of it happened to be with her ex. Since then she’d found the few—very few—men she’d let into her bedroom to be lacking in all departments. No guy had been able to turn her on like this.

Des was different…and that was exactly what made him dangerous. She fell apart around him, lost control of her sensibilities. That was never a good thing.

“I have a new rule for you.” He brushed his lips over her cheek, the stubble on his jaw scraping against her skin.

“Really?” Rules were comforting; rules were safe. Right now she could do with a little more of that.

“Yes, the rules according to Des.” His hand stroked her lower back, soothing her. “You should never, ever, ever feel ashamed for being turned on. There is no greater joy in life for a man than seeing a gorgeous woman enjoying herself sexually.”

“That’s not a rule.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Rules aren’t purely to stop you from doing things, you know—you can use them for good instead of evil.”

“I don’t use them for evil.”

“Then come home with me.” His eyes locked onto hers, two sparkling black gems that were hypnotic in their power over her.

“Now?” A breath caught in her throat. “But you have a restaurant full of people, you have a business to run, you have—”

“I have the need to see you splayed out naked on my bed, Gracie.” As if to prove his point he backed her up to the wall of his office and pushed his hips against her. “I have the need to taste every sweet inch of you, to bring you to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.”

She sighed, her head rolling back against the wall while he trailed kisses up her neck.

“Is that a yes?”

“You had me at naked.”

…

There had been plenty of opportunities for Gracie to back out—from the awkward escape at the restaurant, to the short walk to his car, to the ten minute drive to his house. She’d been quiet the whole way, but she never broke contact with him.

Her hands drew intricate patterns on his thigh while he drove and she snuggled against his back as he unlocked the front door. Part of him had wondered if she might gather her senses and make a break for it.

Yet here she was, standing in his living room among the leather furniture, exposed brick, and polished boards. She radiated at the center of it all and he couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Soda?” The courtesy was merely a tick in a box because he didn’t want her to think he’d savage her the second they walked through the front door. Though savaging her was exactly what he wanted to do.

He worried that she’d use him to scratch an itch and go back to her normal life in the morning, where he would be nothing but a memory. In his normal state, that part would have a louder voice and be more effective to stop him. But logic wasn’t the part of him ruling right now. His cock was throbbing so hard that no other signal in his body could possibly override it.

One night and you can get her out of your system. Then you can both walk away tomorrow, no strings. No emotions.

“I didn’t come here for a drink,” she said, removing her jacket. She slipped it off slowly and draped it over the coffee table. “I came for orgasms.”

Des’s blood simmered anew. Though she smiled and moved slowly, her hand trembled as she undid the buttons of her shirt.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

“I’m not feeling ashamed for being turned on,” she said, parroting his words from earlier, as though convincing herself.

“And how turned on are you?”

She un-zipped her jeans and let them puddle at her feet, her shirt following. In the soft lighting of his lounge room she looked like an angel, the glow of the lamp picked up the burnished tones of her hair and her cream lace underwear was a striking contrast to her olive skin.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Before he had time to think he was in front of her, sweeping her up against him while his lips found hers. She was like liquid pleasure—pliable, fluid. He backed her against the wall, his mouth searing a trail down the slender length of her neck, tasting her honeyed skin. He pushed down the straps of her bra, bending to suck a beaded nipple through the lace cup.

He wanted to know exactly how excited she was. His fingertips danced down her side, skimming the scalloped edge of her underwear. Hooking a finger under the waistband, he traced the sensitive flesh there.

She jumped, stifling a cry by pressing her lips together. His free hand skirted around her waist, supporting her while he delved deeper. She was hot, wet.

“Please.” The plea was murmured against his neck. “More.”

His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, stroking slow and steady while she writhed against him. Her body sagged forward as she gasped, her forehead pressed against his chest, her breath hot through his T-shirt.

Pleasure manifested itself in her breathless whimpers as she jerked her hips, increasing the friction between them. Enjoying her frustration far too much, Des held her tight with his other arm to prevent her from taking control. She was completely at his mercy, a groaning, wriggling, firecracker of feminine goodness. His cock pulsed harder. He wanted her badly but the sensation of bringing her to orgasm in his arms was too good to pass up.

“Des.” She stretched out his name until it dissolved into a cry against his chest. “You’re killing me.”

“What do you want, Gracie?” He nuzzled her hair, keeping his thumb flicking a steady rhythm against her clit.

“I want to come,” she panted. “Please, I need it.”

He increased the pressure of his hand, rubbing and giving her the purchase she craved. When she broke apart it was like his whole world tilted. Her knees gave out and he held her up while she spasmed against his hand. The weight of her body in his arms and the total control he’d had over her pleasure made Des’s head spin.

Drinking her in with his eyes, he watched as she floated back down. Dark hair tangled around her neck, the soft strands brushing his chest as she flopped forward against him. Her breath filled his ears, the gentle scent of her perfume mingling with the earthy scent of sex. He could have stayed like that—holding her—for days on end.

In that moment he knew he was walking into an ambush.

He needed her in his bed for now. But he wanted her to stay for tomorrow.

…

Were her feet even touching the ground? Or had she lifted off and floated into space? That was the power of one incredible, mind-numbing, bone-melting, earth-shaking orgasm. Goddamn, the man was good with his hands.

On second thought, her feet weren’t touching the ground. Gracie’s eyes snapped open and met a solid wall of black. Craning her neck, she realized her face had been buried into Des’s chest and he was carrying her through his house.

“Where are we going?” The words came out fuzzy, slurred with lust and the aftershocks of climax.

“I’m taking you to bed.” His lips pressed against her forehead. “I got the impression your legs weren’t going to be much good for standing after that.”

She hid her face into the soft cotton of his T-shirt again. She had to let go. It wasn’t like she’d never had an orgasm before, but it was safe to say she’d never had one like that. Pinwheels of colored light had danced before her eyes, exploding and twirling, fractured rainbow shades. Her body had taken on a mind of its own, giving in so completely and utterly that for a moment afterwards she’d had no idea where she was…or even who she was.

“Good call.” A giggle bubbled up inside her. She was drunk on pleasure. Giddy with lust. Unbalanced by his touch.

“One down, two to go.” His voice was like sandpaper, thick and rough and a little dirty. “I always keep my promises, Gracie.”

She tilted her head and nipped at the tanned skin along his collarbone with her teeth. “That’s another rule of mine: three orgasm minimum.”

“Is that so?” He placed her down, making sure she was steady before releasing her, his hands lingering at her hips.

She nodded, peering up at him through her lashes. “It is now.”

“I’m glad I’ve had a positive impact on your life.” He stroked her arm. “You deserve more than the bare minimum.”

“So four orgasms it is?” She laughed, delighting in the roguish smile that crossed his face.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Speaking of hard…” Her hand hovered at his waist, her fingertips dancing over the chunky silver buckle that kept his jeans in place.

She skimmed her fingertips down over the hard ridge of his erection, which was perfectly outlined beneath faded denim. His sharp intake of breath emboldened her and she traced the tip with her finger, swirling it over the most sensitive part of him. It was as if some force controlled her, filled her with the confidence to do what she normally shied away from.

“This is payback isn’t it?” His dark eyes were shielded by thick lashes, his voice strained.

“You bet it is.”

She gave him a light squeeze before working her way back up. Tugging on the leather belt, she undressed him slowly, taking her time with the buckle, button, and zip until there was enough space for her to slip her hand into his pants. She closed her fingers around him, the throb of his need strong against her palm.

“Sweet mother of G–” He stood stock still, allowing her to move her hand inch by inch along the length of him.

Supressing an evil laugh, she withdrew her hand and reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it upwards to reveal the flat, muscular plane of his stomach. He was built, more so than she’d ever realized at the bar. The intricate designs of his tattoos ran over one shoulder and down both arms. Color swirled, and the black outlines made each shape pop against his olive skin. A lion’s head with a date scribed in its mane covered his left pec.

Gracie traced the design, following the curved black lines of the lion’s nose with her fingertip. “What’s this date?”

“It’s the date I got out of prison.”

Her hand retracted and she looked up at him, her eyes wide. He laughed and shook his head.

“You really do think I’m from the wrong side of tracks, don’t you?” He captured her hand and brought it back to his chest. “It’s the date my mother went into remission after having breast cancer. Her name is Leone. It means lion in Italian.”

Heat flared in her cheeks. He could read her more easily than anyone she’d ever known. It wasn’t the first time she’d shown how naïve she was, though with a mother like hers it was a miracle she could even function in modern society.

“I’ll make you pay for that.” She covered her embarrassment with a coy smile and a flutter of her lashes.

“I don’t think so.” Des scooped her up once more and she instinctively wound her legs around his waist.

The hardness of his erection and the sharp teeth of his zipper dug into the soft underside of her thighs. He held her easily, as though she weighed no more than a feather pillow. Stubble scraped along her skin as he kissed her neck, every so often thrilling her with a little nip as they made their way to the bedroom.

Hovering at the edge of the bed, he paused before lowering her until the soft cover pressed into her back. Moving down her body, his experienced hands easily dispensed of her bra. He trailed his lips down her stomach, pressing a kiss to each hipbone before he peeled the last scrap of lace from her body. As he slid the underwear down her legs, Gracie cringed at how wet they were. She had given in to her fantasies tonight, letting Des pull her apart at the seams, letting him encounter her at her most vulnerable.

“No frowning,” Des said, parting her legs and trailing a finger from knee to hip. “I only want you screwing up your face if you’re coming.”

“Get to work then.” She ran her foot up the side of his leg, over his hip until her toes traced the length of his erection. “But I want you to get rid of these first.”

“You want to see me naked, do you?” His tone was teasing, but he immediately complied.

Gracie sucked on her lower lip. “It’s only fair.”

Standing, he pushed his jeans down over muscular thighs. The black cotton boxer briefs followed. She drank him in, committed each and every angle to memory. He was magnificent, hard and smooth in all the right places. His cock jutted towards her, and her fingers ached to wrap around him again. She’d never felt so hungry for a man before. She’d never felt like her world might fracture if she didn’t find release with him deep inside her.

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he grabbed her hips and dragged her to him, forcing her legs apart with his strong hands. She gasped. Each move was so primal and commanding. He didn’t ask for permission to please her, didn’t handle her as though she might break. He controlled her pleasure, took what he wanted.