Method - Kate Stewart Page 0,44

rather convincing.”

Shit. That sounded bitter and to top it off, I openly eye his crotch and am thankful he’s not hard. He catches my gaze and runs an impatient hand down his face.

“You’re disgusted, right?”

“No,” I whisper, downing the second helping of wine and place the glass on the counter. “It’s your job.”

“So you’ve said,” he counters dryly. “Twice. Why do I get the feeling that doesn’t matter?”

“Fine, it stung a little.” I flush at the memory of it. “That doesn’t mean I have a say.”

“What if you do?”

I shrug. “Even then, you didn’t purposefully do it to hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t.” He surveys my body, my nipples betray me hardening beneath my thin T-shirt as I picture his grind, the way he gripped her body, her slack jaw.

He bites his full bottom lip and both of his brows lift. “Convincing, huh?”

“The wine…” I trail off in a shit excuse.

The corners of his mouth lift as he takes a menacing step toward me.

“You’re turned on.” He surveys me and catches the shiver I’m unable to disguise.

Body flushing, I close my eyes and nod.

“But you won’t kiss me?” That has him more distraught than I am. He shakes his head in frustration. “I’ll be honest. I’ve never been in this position.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I don’t like it.” He takes another aggressive step toward me, and I shy away from his touch.

“Lucas, you just had another woman’s nipple in your mouth, so, no, I don’t want to kiss you just yet. I mean, I do, but should I?”

The timbre of his voice skates over my heated skin. “Four days I’ve been thinking about your lips, about touching you,” he whispers as his eyes trail slowly down my body. “I wanted to call, but we’ve been clocking seventeen-hour days since filming started and they blurred. I should have texted.”

I shrug. “It’s fine.”

“Stop lying, where the hell is that refreshing honesty I love so much?” His eyes blaze another path over me and static sparks off between us.

I’m molten, the wine batting away any moral dilemma. I can’t stop replaying his movements, the sight of his bare ass. I’m sick with need, and I make a decision to toss delicate and demure over my shoulder because my body is screaming for relief.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this, and we probably won’t last anyway.

Seize the moment, Mila. It’s been eight months!

Resigned, I move toward him placing my hands on his chest. He tenses beneath my palms as I make my proposition. “I won’t kiss you,” I whisper thickly, “but I will take the only part of you that hasn’t touched her.”

Sliding my hand down his chest and past the cut edges of his stomach, I cup his cock and find he’s already hard, for me.

He pauses, his eyes flaring. He’s stunned. Good, because I’m equally as shocked that I said it.

He watches as I slowly unfasten the buttons of his jeans and take him heavy in my hand. His cock jerks in my palm. Glancing down, I encase him, my fingers unable to touch due to his sizable girth before I hear his breath escape in a hiss. Pumping him once, my eyes flit back to his in challenge. “Tonight, this belongs to only me.”

We’re at the tipping point, and when he licks his lips, my only thought is…Checkmate. He moves in to claim me, and I shake my head.

“No touching.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Oh, I am,” I assure him with a lusty edge to my voice. “You touch, we stop.”

His eyes hood. “Fuck, Mila.”

His reaction to my touch spurs me on as I shamelessly stroke him.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, pushing his jeans down before he begins to toe off his boots. “But you can trust I’m good. I take this seriously.”

“We’re going to have to trust each other,” I whisper as I push him to sit at the breakfast bench in front of a small table. He leans back, as I pull off my T-shirt and unhook my bra.

His thick cock is pointing north and beads at the tip as I discard my bra and hear a groan coming from his lips while I unveil myself. Taking my time, I strip bare. Naked and unashamed, whether it be from wine or want, I’m in this. His eyes take in my every curve, and his knuckles whiten with the grip he has on the padding at the edge of the seat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, gripping himself in his hand and pumping

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