Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,52

for me. “That attraction makes me want the things you are very clearly withholding.”

As he follows me in, I reach behind me to unhook the beaded bra. The rainfall shower head with recessed body jets is heaven, so I always shower here before heading home. Besides, removing my clothes is a sure way to make him disappear.

Except he doesn’t leave.

Brushing my fingers away, he swiftly releases the row of hook and eye closures.

My heart races, and my hand flies to my chest, holding the cups in place. “Trace.”

“Danni.” He shifts closer, closer, until his necktie brushes my spine, his palms cup my bare shoulders, and his forehead rests against the back of my head. “Come upstairs with me.”

That sounds like an invitation for more than a movie. Then again, I tend to have an overactive imagination, and it shoots straight out of my mouth.

“I’m hungry, Trace.”

“I’ll feed you.”

“Will you feed me what we both want?”

His hands clench on my shoulders, and his breaths quicken. He’s thinking it, wanting it, even if he won’t admit it out loud.

In a moment of insanity, I loosen my grip on the bra and let it fall to the floor. My nipples harden against the cool air, and my breaths catch the tempo of his, growing louder, shorter, ragged with desire.

Standing behind me, he can’t see my breasts, but if he lowers his hands just a few inches, he could hold them, play with them. God help me, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched there I have to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from begging.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers.

If he’s trying to convince himself, it doesn’t work because his hands are already moving over my body. One sweeps across my upper chest, and the other caresses a path around my hip to flatten against my abs.

My breasts feel heavy, tingling for attention, but he ignores them. With his arms folded around me, he holds my back to his chest as his mouth lowers, feathers along my neck, pressing harder, growing rougher, until he’s kissing, sucking, and greedily biting my skin.

Every lick and scrape of teeth shoots a current of pleasure between my legs. I let my head fall to the side, giving him better access. The hand on my stomach splays wider, dipping, sinking beneath crystals and satin to stroke the trimmed hair on my mound.

Oh, Jesus. Please don’t stop.

I melt against his chest, my hands falling back to the hard bricks of his ass and digging into the fabric of his slacks. We’re both panting, shaking, grinding together as he reaches deeper between my legs, sliding over the wet waxed flesh of my folds.

His engorged cock prods my backside, and my knees weaken. Stars blot my vision, and the pound of my heart roars in my ears. If his long confident fingers plunge inside me, I’m done for. I’ll come instantly, and the whole casino will hear me. But I don’t care. I need this. I need him.

He rolls his hips against my ass aggressively, frantically, simulating sex. I bask in the claiming, in the heat of his harsh exhales on my neck, the fingers tracing my slit, and the massive body curled around mine. Teeth graze my shoulder, and his panting strengthens into a deep groan.

Until he bumps against the ring on my labium.

His breaths cut off, and his entire body goes still.

“What’s wrong?” Dread knots in my stomach, suffocating the flames of my arousal.

His hands leave my body, and he steps back, taking all the air with him. The same reaction he had when he touched the ring on my finger three months ago.

“It’s just a piercing.” I’m frozen with hope. Hope that he’ll snap out of it and finish what he started.

Oppressive silence pushes against my back. I cross an arm over my nude chest and fight to keep my shoulders from hunching. Then I shift to face him.

With a hand on the wall supporting his slumped posture, he holds his other hand beneath his nose, as if smelling me on his fingers.

“What just happened?” My voice is low, hoarse.

His gaze lifts, locking on mine as his hand balls into a fist and drops to his side.

“A lapse in judgment. Forgive me.” He stands taller, blanking his expression. “I made a mistake.”

My airway constricts, and chills crash through me. I feel injured, insulted, but the pain is minuscule. I’ve endured worse. Survived worse. Nothing compares to burying my heart in a grave of ashes, and