them glide across my skin, see them wrap around my cock.
“You dare me?” She raises an arched brow.
I drag in a breath to cool the lust burning my veins. “Yeah.”
Slowly, she sinks her teeth into that bottom lip again. The gesture brings a rush of red to her pouty mouth. Is her unconscious habit the reason it always looks swollen? Or is that simply the normal plumpness of her lips?
For some reason I can’t fathom, I need the answer to that question—and a ton of others about her. What does she look like when she’s completely bare-faced and relaxed? When she first wakes and stretches? When she comes? I’m dying to understand what makes her tick and what it is about her that gets to me.
Masey is nothing like my “usual.” She’s not a blonde. She’s not flirty. She’s not loud or laughing or trying to be the center of everyone’s attention. She doesn’t have a wild streak. She doesn’t have the kind of sexuality that makes me think that, once I get my hands on her, she’ll be a bucking bronco I’ll need to hold tight to handle her fierce, unbridled ride.
Instead, she has an appeal I’ve never encountered. She’s not an explosion of sex on my senses but a slow, constant burn. Without even taking Masey to bed, I’m pretty sure that once with her won’t dim this flame. What draws me isn’t purely her killer cleavage, though it’s damn tempting, or the gorgeous legs her short skirt reveals. She hasn’t laughed loudly, downed shots, then cast me a flirty glance and suggested we fuck. No, Masey is measured, deliberate, and driven. Our candid conversation gave me a glimpse of the real her, and I’m sure she didn’t ask Harlow to help her find the perfect one-night stand without a lot of consideration. My guess is she thought about this for weeks, maybe months. And despite Masey not being the kind of woman I’d normally pursue, I’m drawn to her. Her innate caution and her hint of something almost pure is a fascinating part of her allure.
And no one has touched it.
I want to be the first. I want to hoard it. Keep it. I want to study the origami of her personality and figure out everything about her that attracts me.
It makes no sense, but I’m aching for her in a way that doesn’t feel strictly like sex.
Finally, she raises her chin as if she’s reached a decision. Then she steps into my personal space. “You dared me. I can’t say no to that. So, are you going to kiss me already?”
“Hell yeah. Oh, honey, if you knew everything racing through my head, you’d probably run.”
A little furrow of worry appears between her brows. “Why? You’re not going to hurt me, right?”
“Never.”
“Then—”
“Let’s not dissect whatever this is. Let’s just let it happen.”
“I’ve never been good at that.”
Because she’s never had the chance; Thom didn’t make it possible. I have a feeling that she’s tried to fantasize her way into the experience she wanted with her ex—and failed. Her anxiety is an unspoken ache bleeding between us. I feel her wondering… What will she do if I can’t give her what she craves? If she’s not capable of feeling real pleasure and she has to face the fact she’s been blaming her ex all this time?
And underneath her worries lies a yearning I can’t resist. Not for me specifically…but if I do everything right, is there any chance it could be? Is it at all possible she wakes up tomorrow and wants me to stay longer?
What the… Why am I thinking this shit? She’s only here for a couple of weeks while she puts her ex behind her enough to date her new neighbor. Masey and I have nothing beyond tonight. I need to remember that.
But she’s in my head and under my skin. Sure, I’m attracted. But this is…different.
It feels like more.
“I have no doubt you’re better than you think,” I finally say as I cradle her cheek and slowly slide my fingers around her nape, curling the tips along the soft column. “But let me help you. Tonight, tell me everything you think. If something I do feels good, say so. If it doesn’t, I want to hear that, too.”
She licks her lips again, and at the thought of her tongue on my skin, I feel my knees start to buckle. “You do?”
Masey breathes the question like she’s not sure whether to believe me. I do