The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,115

guess this is goodnight.”

She doesn’t leave, doesn’t so much as move a muscle.

“I don’t despise you, Isaiah,” she says, voice half broken. “Actually, I was thinking earlier … that I might have misjudged you.”

She has my full attention. If she’s saying what I think she’s saying … I think I just found my second wind.

“It’s funny.” Her lips bend upward for a second before she lowers her chin and looks away. “There was a moment tonight when I wasn’t thinking about slapping you across the face, and instead I was thinking about what it’d be like to kiss you.”

I smirk, like a lion who has his prey exactly where he wants her. “I bet you were.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I feel like you were overcompensating all night,” I say, shrugging.

“Overcompensating for what?”

“The fact that you can’t stand me but you’re crazy attracted to me.”

“Cocky much?”

“Nope. Just perceptive.”

“Anyway, you’re right. I’m attracted to you and I can’t stand you.” Her arms fold across her chest.

I rise, slow and careful, coming toward her, bringing my hand toward her face and cupping her pointed chin, I angle her mouth into the perfect position. “All loathing aside, do you want to know what’s it like? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering?”

Her cherry lips twist and she exhales through her nose.

“You infuriate me,” she says, our eyes holding. “But at the same time … you kind of turn me on. And that makes it really hard for me to walk away from you right now.”

“Then don’t.” I twist a strand of her dark hair around my fingers before letting it fall to her soft shoulder.

Her perfect teeth rake across her lower lip and she drags in a slow breath, a wordless surrender of sorts.

“For the record, sex with you is going to mean absolutely nothing to me,” she says, head cocked and eyes playful.

“As it should.”

“And this is a one-time thing.” She lifts a single, manicured finger.

“Perfect.”

Dragging in a ragged breath, she tilts her mouth toward mine, waiting … almost hesitating, as if I’m some fire she might burn her finger on if she isn’t careful.

Smart girl.

My hands drop to her hips, pulling her body against mine, and I crush her full lips as her body melts against me.

I’ve been told I have that effect on people—I can make them love me or hate me. Sometimes both at the same time. It’s a blessing and a curse, but mostly a blessing of the convenient variety. Most of the time I can use it to my advantage.

The taste of toothpaste on her tongue mixes with a hint of the sweet liquor she was sipping on all night, and when her hands lift to the back of my neck and her nails trace against my scalp, my cock strains, growing harder with each graze of our mouths.

Sliding my palms down the sides of her thighs, I lift her, wrapping her long legs around my hips as I carry her to the sofa and lower myself, keeping her straddled in my lap.

Her mouth presses against the underside of my jaw, peppering hot kisses into my flesh as she trails down my right shoulder, her nails digging into my skin. Maritza’s hips rock against mine, grinding on my cock, tempering the ache.

Taking the flimsy hem of her tank top between my fingers, I lift her top over her head before cupping two of the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen in my life. I twist a single pink bud between my thumb and forefinger before lowering my mouth and giving it a taste.

Maritza tosses her head back, slow and intentional as she offers her body to me. When she sits up and our eyes meet, she reaches for my shirt, tearing it off before running her palms down my chest and abs, her fingers tracing the grooves and ridges of each muscle.

“You’re so … hard,” she says, bending forward and tracing the tattoo above my heart with a single finger. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing,” I say, sliding a finger beneath the waistband of her shorts. “It means absolutely nothing.”

Tugging them down her thighs and letting the scent of her arousal fill my lungs, I switch places with her, letting her lie down as I grab a rubber from my wallet and unzip my pants.

“Holy shit,” she says when she sees what I’m working with.

I smirk, proud. The reaction never gets old no matter how many times I see it.

Sitting up, she takes my