Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,12
room, just the two of us, he wore down my resolve. I was certain we’d share a meal, and that would be that. After all, I don’t really even know this man. I barely sleep with men after three dates. Yet here I stand, figuring I’m on vacation and should live a little.
I want to sleep with him. My brain has chosen this moment to let my hormones override any sensibilities, and as I look at him looking at me, I don’t even care how illogical this is. Any regrets I have about this later will be from my decisions. They’ll be my doing. He’s given me a hundred ways out, and I keep shoving my way in.
His hands grasp my waist, his fingers biting into my hips. With a gentle yet firm grip, he urges me to take a step toward him. To close the small distance.
The scent of his cologne fills the void between us, swirling with the warm evening air. My thighs clench together; my legs sticky from my arousal as a grin plays across his lips.
“I’ve never had this problem before,” he grunts.
Making a show of glancing at his lap, I drag my gaze up his chest until it settles on his eyes again. “Doesn’t look like you have a problem to me.”
He bites back a laugh with a slight shake of his head. “There’s no problem there.”
“I could find out for myself if you weren’t so chatty.”
The chuckle comes now, as does a grin. “I was referring to knowing where to start, smart-ass.”
“Have you never done this before?” I tease.
“I’m confident when I say I’m certain I’ve never been with a woman like you.”
There’s a kick to his tone, an almost reverence, that takes my breath away. It’s swoon or seduce, and I choose the latter.
“Well, then let me show you.” Prying one of his hands off my hip, I hold his gaze. Bringing it to my throat, I let the back of his fingers trail down my skin, gliding them over my sternum and between my breasts. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, fighting the urge to take over. But he doesn’t. He lets me direct the moment.
My skin burns beneath his touch, a trail of unseen flames left behind his contact. My brain buzzes, almost drunk, numb to any thought other than him and me. The powerfulness coursing through my veins, that a man like this is responding to me in this way, beats any victory in a courtroom. It’s surreal.
Twisting his hand so his palm is flat as it rubs down my stomach, he turns it at the apex of my thighs. Cupping my sex through my dress, the fabric sinks into the dampness under his palm.
His eyes flick to mine.
“Is that wet enough for you, Holt?” I ask, lifting a brow.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, my dress is bunched up and held in place at my waist. The air brushes against my bare vagina, and I feel incredibly exposed. The sensation startles me for a fleeting moment. He erases any sense of bewilderment with his warm, cradling gaze.
Grabbing the back of my thigh, he squeezes my leg. I try not to yelp because it doesn’t hurt, but a sound comes out as I reach my breaking point. He bites his lip to contain his amusement because he knows I want him. He’s aware that I need him. But it’s apparent that he’s not going to give it to me until he’s ready.
My legs part at his nudging, his fingers trailing up the inside of my thigh. With each inch they go higher, my heartbeat spikes a little more until the tips of his fingers reach my opening.
I suck in a hasty breath as I watch him feel, for the first time, how turned on I really am.
“My God,” he groans. “You weren’t kidding.” Pulling me toward him, he reaches farther back and inserts one long, firm finger in the middle of my slit. I moan, my body turning to gelatin as he drags it through the wetness.
“Holt …” I gulp as my stomach clenches.
He holds the finger in the air, my desire glistening off it.
“There’s one question answered,” he says, his tone rough. “Let’s answer another.”
“Which is that?”
Looking me dead in the eye, he wraps his lips around his finger. My jaw drops as his eyes light up.
“You taste amazing,” he says.
Before I can react, before I can come up with a witty response, he’s dipping a finger inside me again.