I wanted to remind him that he had no right to stop me. He’d let me go so easily. But I didn’t. I was afraid he’d vanish. “He was thoughtful. He made me feel special. I don’t get that. Ever.” The condemnation in my own tone was just as thick.
One long finger ran slowly from my temple to my chin, and then the fingertip trailed a path down my neck. I arched for him, hungry for any touch he’d give me. No amount of romance compared to the way this man made my body hum. I gravitated toward him with each small touch.
His hand slid over my throat, and he squeezed with a gentle pressure. “He put his lips on what is mine.”
His? I was his? I should be screaming at him that I was no one’s. No man owned me. Yet my body tingled with pleasure, and I shivered. He didn’t tighten his grip or hinder my breathing, but his hand stayed on my throat in an act of control—or was it possession? I liked the idea of both.
Gannon exuded power. It made me want to lean into him and let him take over. Not once in my life had I been able to trust someone to protect me, to please me, to want me. I did with him. Even if he was a fantasy brought on by my desires.
His other hand ran down my chest to the space between my breasts, then over my navel, before reaching my lace panties. I held my breath as my chest began to rise and fall rapidly in anticipation of his hand touching me . . . there.
“You want me. I can smell you,” he whispered, lowering his head to my ear and applying more pressure to my neck, this time making me light-headed before easing up. “Tell me what you want me to touch.”
I reached to move his hand down lower.
“No!” He snarled, taking my wrist and slamming my hand back over my head against the pillow. “Tell. Me,” he demanded. “Where do you want my hand?”
He wanted me to talk dirty. He wouldn’t touch me until I played his game. I’d play whatever game he wanted me to if I could get his hand between my legs. “I want you to touch my pussy,” I replied, feeling my skin grow hot from embarrassment.
He let out a low, deep chuckle and pressed a kiss to my temple. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he told me, then reached down with both hands and jerked my panties down to my ankles. “Open your knees,” he growled.
Before I could get them completely open, his mouth was on me. The roughness of his beard only heightened the need. “Ahhh!” I cried out, as his tongue slid into me, over and over, before circling my clit and diving in once more. The groan from his chest vibrated against me. I buried my hands in his hair and held on to him as my orgasm built to such an extreme that I thought I might stop breathing. My heart might not be strong enough, but I didn’t care. As long as I lost myself with this man’s touch, I’d be happy.
He pulled back, and I whimpered. “You want more?” His tone was teasing yet almost brutal.
“Yes.” I panted, ready to say or do whatever he demanded.
“Is this pussy mine?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed without pause.
“Say it.”
Again, he wanted me to play his game. I wanted the beauty only he could bring me. I’d play this game. “My pussy is yours.”
His mouth was instantly back on me, and he licked and tasted me until I was screaming his name, God’s name, and other things I don’t even remember, before the darkness engulfed me once more and I was alone.
Major
She had blown me off. I’d thought about it most of the night, and I was convinced it was a blow-off—and not the kind I liked. It was the kind that ended with her shutting the door in my face after a quick good night. What the hell? I’d taken her to a secret garden she loved and fed her all her favorite foods prepared by her favorite chef dude. I should have been invited in, dammit.
The text from Cope saying to meet him at his room in five minutes hadn’t lightened my mood. He had expected more, too. This would be my failure, of course. He had set me up with the perfect date, but somewhere along the way, I’d missed a beat. I had eaten that weird salad for her. What more could she ask for?
I had lifted my fist to knock on the door, when it opened and Cope turned to walk back to the monitors on the far right wall, where he was currently observing Nan sleep. Creepy as hell, but it was what we did. Nan was beautiful and peaceful when she was asleep. That sharp tongue wasn’t working then.
“She didn’t invite you in. Why is that?”
Like I knew the answer to this fucking question.
“I don’t know. I did everything I normally do, and I even ate that gross salad. Thanks for the olive-free bruschetta, though. I don’t think I would’ve kept that down.”
Cope didn’t look away from the screens. “I spent hours of research on making last night an easy in for you. Something you did wrong kept her from letting you in. We won’t get our info if you don’t fucking get into her bed.” His voice rose to a loud roar at the end, and I had to admit I hated when he did that. I was always waiting for him to pull out his gun and say “Fuck it” then nail me between the eyes or some crazy shit like that.
“I’m going to work on her today. I think she was overwhelmed by the date of a lifetime last night and didn’t know what to do or think.”
“The kiss. Did she draw close to you?”
No, not exactly. It had almost felt as if she wasn’t there at all. She’d been distant. “Yeah, sure. Like always.”