Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
My heart rate kicks up.
He slides his gaze over me, and I’m rooted to the spot.
He steps inside then. His jacket and tie are gone, the top two buttons on his shirt undone. He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I wonder what he was doing as I take in his powerful forearms dusted with dark hair. Another business meeting? And what exactly had he done earlier? Beat someone up? Seems a little vulgar even for him. He has soldiers and I wouldn’t peg him to be one to get his hands dirty, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he likes getting his hands dirty.
Barefoot, I don’t reach his chin, and I don’t move when he takes both the dress and the hanger from me. He hangs the dress up and returns his attention to me as I stand before him in just my panties. I hadn’t worn a bra with the dress because of the straps.
Why am I always almost naked in front of him? Why am I always at a disadvantage?
“Come with me,” he says and turns to walk back into the bedroom.
I follow because what else am I going to do?
Once in the bedroom, he pours himself a whiskey. He doesn’t offer me one, not that I want one.
He takes a sip as he turns back to me. I have my hands over my breasts and am trying not to fidget from foot to foot. The way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me.
Or to me.
I swallow, my body again anticipating, not dreading, what’s surely coming.
His gaze drops to my hands. He walks toward me, taking another sip. He’s so close I can feel the heat coming off him.
He takes one wrist, and I don’t fight him when he pulls my hand off and sets it at my side. He does the same with the other.
I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are hardening as he stands back to look me over.
Without comment, he returns his gaze to mine, and with his whiskey hand, he brushes the hair away from my face.
It takes all I have to stand still and not back away.
His gaze then travels down to my mouth, and I think he’s looking at that scar and some part of me, some ridiculous, stupid part of me, wishes it wasn’t there.
My hand moves of its own accord as if wiping something from my mouth, but it’s to hide the flaw. Habit.
“Don’t do that.”
I drop my arm.
He cups the back of my head, the bandage a barrier between us. His eyes never leave mine as he swallows the last of his whiskey and sets his glass down on the nearest surface. I notice how dark they’ve gone. Note that subtle scent of aftershave and hate myself for inhaling deeply.
I move my hands to his chest, but it’s not to ward him off. I like the feel of him, the hard muscle and strength and danger. I like it.
He brushes his bruised knuckles over my cheekbone. My head presses into the fingers of his other hand, and I lick my lips. It’s all I can do because I feel him, feel his erection against my belly.
“Don’t bite,” he whispers just before kissing me.
I’m expecting this, aren’t I? So why am I so unprepared, my heart skipping a beat? Why does his kiss steal my breath, and why, when his tongue prods, do my lips part for him?
His free hand leaves a trail of goose bumps as it skims over my spine before cupping my ass, squeezing it as he presses his hardness against my belly, and I can’t think.
I can’t want to want this.
I can’t want to want him.
But when he breaks the kiss and draws back to look at me, I know he sees it. Sees the desire in my eyes. And something in his feels off.
“Turn around,” he says.
“What?” my voice is a breathy whisper.
“Turn around. Put your hands on the bed.”
I shake my head because this is payback. My punishment for the restaurant.
“Do it, Cristina. Don’t make me make you.”
I try to gauge where his head is. He appears so calm, but he’s not. He’s dangerous. I know this.
“I said do it.”
I turn, bend to put my hands on the bed. Is this how he’s going to do it? Is this how my first time will be? I’m aroused and afraid at once, that fear fuel to the heat between my legs.
His hands are on me then, gentle at first, drawing my hips back. Pressing on my lower back so I arch it, which makes my butt stick out. He’s positioning me the way he wants me. He takes hold of my panties and drags them over my hips. They slip down my legs and to the floor.