She threaded her hands through his hair and tugged, and he knew if she kept touching him, it’d be over before things got started. He pulled her arms above her head and clasped her wrists in one hand. “I call the shots.”
He watched her carefully, and her eyes dilated. He grinned, liking her response. He’d always preferred control, more so after his marriage and life had fallen apart, and his older brother Ian had taught him not to apologize for who he was or what he needed. His cousin Decklan had introduced him to Scott’s favorite club in New York, and Scott had begun to understand himself even more.
“I’m not sure I like that,” she said, her mind obviously at war with what her needy body craved.
“When I make you come over and over, you will.”
Her eyes opened wide. And then she laughed. Damned woman actually laughed at him. He raised an eyebrow.
“What?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “Experience tells me that was a cocky claim.”
“You did not just call my skill into question.”
She met his gaze, a combination of mirth and seriousness in her chocolate-brown eyes. “Maybe it’s the skill of all those men in my past I’m talking about,” she murmured, her voice dropping, honesty and embarrassment forcing her gaze down.
Olivia had told him Meg had a history of picking the wrong guys. A pattern that went far beyond the asshole who’d laid a hand on her this last time. Now Scott understood just how bad her prior relationships had been, and he intended to make up for each and every jerk in her past. Something that would take way more than one night.
But he’d start now. “Okay, baby, I’m going to lay down a few rules.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
So damned cute, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
“I am not your baby,” she said, but the gleam in her eyes told him otherwise. She liked when he called her that.
He grinned. “We’ll see.”
She narrowed her gaze. “And did you say rules?” Meg asked, unable to believe his nerve.
He nodded. “Rules. As in, you do as I say, and you get to come. Often.”
How could she argue with that? Before she could even respond, he picked her up and into his arms, enjoying the warmth of her body against his. “Direct me to the bedroom.”
“Are you always this bossy?” she asked. And why, oh, why did her pussy spasm when he acted like this? A normal woman would be turned off, but not Meg. A guy took control, and she wanted more.
“Yes. Get used to it. Back there?” he tilted his head toward the open doorway and, without waiting for an answer, strode to her room.
He paused by the bed, dipped his head, and kissed her hard. This was no first-date kiss, but then this wasn’t a date. This was sex, and she already knew it was going to be the best she’d ever had.
It might also be the last, so she’d better enjoy it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers gliding over the hard muscles in his upper back, which she could feel through his clothing, then up through his silky hair. She inhaled, and his masculine scent raced through her, a heady reminder that she really was doing this. With Scott, a man she’d wanted since meeting him, she thought, and her belly twisted with need.
He laid her down on the center of the bed, his movements sure and gentler than she’d expected. Then he rose. He removed his jacket and tossed it onto the floor, took care of the holstered gun, placing it on the dresser—and boy, did she find a man with a weapon hot. Especially this man. She couldn’t stop staring as he yanked his shirt up and off, revealing tanned skin and a light sprinkling of dark hair across his chest that ran down his abs and tapered into the waistband of his jeans.
He was a sculpted work of art, and she watched him greedily. Ran her tongue over her lips.
“I want that tongue on me, baby.”
She couldn’t believe the calm, collected, always-in-control Scott Dare was a dirty talker during sex, and her stomach flipped in excitement at his words. She wanted her tongue on him too. She, who could normally care less about oral sex, wanted to take him in her mouth and lick him all over.
“So come here and let me,” she said, shocked at the gravelly tone of her voice.
His gaze narrowed. “Who calls the shots?” he asked, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down over narrow hips. He’d hooked his thumbs into his boxers or briefs; she didn’t know which because they were gone along with his jeans, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his thick, hard cock.
Jesus.
“Was that an answer?” he asked.
Had he asked a question? Her breasts were heavy, her nipples hard and hurting, and her panties now soaked with the evidence of her desire for him. And she was lying in bed, fully dressed, while this gorgeous specimen of a man stood aroused before her. She couldn’t focus on anything but getting naked too.
She reached for the hem of her shirt, and suddenly he was over her, pinning her to the bed. “You can’t deny me the pleasure of peeling those clothes off you. I want to see every inch of your skin.”
He lifted the shirt and eased it upward, his calloused thumbs trailing over her sensitive flesh. He pulled it off, leaving her in just a flimsy bra—one that would have to be replaced soon, because it did little to conceal the now-larger swells of her breasts.
His gaze never left her body, his eyes darkening as he drank her in. “You’re gorgeous.”
He swiped his thumbs over her already-aching nipples, and she moaned, his words arousing her as much as his touch. He trailed his fingertips down, then slid his hand into the waistband of her leggings and soon removed those too. Of course, he took her panties along
