At that moment, I think her argument could’ve been as compelling as, “you put big stick in little hole,” and I would’ve caved. I wanted her. Fuck, I wanted her.
I was sliding my hand down the curve of her hip before I’d consciously decided anything. That first touch undid me. It obliterated any good sense or thoughts of restraint. I needed her. I needed to bury myself in her so fucking deep that it hurt.
Chelsea let out a small noise and lowered herself down on my erection. I closed my eyes, pressing my head back into the chair and let her.
There’d be hell to pay for this later, I suspected. But right now, I couldn’t make myself stop if I tried.
I was done pretending I hadn’t wanted to fuck her since the moment I saw her walk back into my life.
I stood, holding her by her ass as I walked her over to the bed. She tightened her legs around my waist with her hands threaded behind my neck. There was uncertainty in her eyes. Fear, maybe.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” I said. “But I’m going to explode if I don’t get inside you. I want you too damn much.”
Chelsea nodded. “No attachments. Just sex.”
She was right, of course. The more impersonal we made this, the better it was. For both of us.
“I want you to clean me off first, though,” she added, biting her lip. “In the shower.”
I grinned. I wasn’t about to admit that I’d been filthily looking forward to sweaty, hot sex with her the way she was right this moment. Still, taking her to the shower first would drag things out. I had no idea if I’d ever get to lay my hands on her again, so I’d take every last detour I possibly could.
I tossed her on the bed roughly, then stepped back to strip out of my shirt. She lay there with her legs still spread and her eyes devouring my torso. I grinned down at her, then pulled off my running shorts, letting her get a healthy view of my cock, which was hard enough now to hammer through diamonds
“There’s something I need to tell you. Before we—”
I shook my head, then bent down over her to press my hand to her mouth. “You don’t get to speak anymore. Until this is over, you’re mine. Every inch of you belongs to me until we leave this room. You’re my fucking toy, and I’m about to play the shit out of you.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “For some reason,” she whispered. “I can’t really picture you being the type to play with toys.”
I wanted to sigh. Of course she couldn’t leave her personality at the door, even for this.
22
Chelsea
Oh, shit.
I knew what this was. It was the moment before a tsunami. The water had receded, and I was one of the poor fools who walked out to the beach to get a closer look.
Why was the water so far from shore? Wasn’t that funny? Oh, what’s that giant, life-shattering wave coming toward me at blinding speed? And why does it have abs covered in glistening sweat and a sexy little script tattoo stretching down the side of its rippled torso?
Damon was the tsunami about to crash into me. He was cocked and loaded in both senses of the phrase, and there was no use running now. You didn’t outrun moments like this. You didn’t outrun men like this.
“Stand,” Damon said.
It was like the word itself compelled me to my feet. I was standing in front of him now.
Some people probably would’ve felt embarrassed. After all, Damon could’ve been carved as a statue of what the gods themselves aspired to.
But me? I decided if that man was looking at me the way he was, then I had nothing to be ashamed of. It was a powerful feeling, and every moment his eyes dug into me felt like it pumped energizing, white light straight into my veins.
I felt sexy.
I felt powerful.
I chewed my lip, then met his eyes to wait for his next command.
“Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want you to tease me.”
Damon, you kinky bastard.
I used just my index finger to slip the strap of my sports bra to the side, loving how his eyes followed my every movement with obvious hunger.
I realized with a little annoyance that I couldn’t sexily shimmy my sports bra down, so I had to try to do a recovery move where I tucked my arm under on the other side and then pulled it over my head.
Of course, being the klutz I was, I managed to slingshot it from the back of my head and straight to Damon.
He caught it in his hand, then lifted it to his nose and sniffed.
I couldn’t help bulging my eyes. Okay. He wasn’t just a kinky bastard. He was a freak. A spectacular, gorgeous, breathtaking freak. And he was sniffing my sports bra.
He clutched it in his fist, then tossed it on top of his suitcase like he was saving it as a trophy. Then he beckoned me closer with one finger.
Dutifully, I walked toward him. I felt like a goddess. Like sex personified. I was the effing seductress. I was the siren in the sea, the one who was driving him wild with lust, and I was loving every moment of it.
He took a hard handful of my breasts. Damon sucked in a quick breath, then ran his thumb teasingly across my nipple.
His hands on me were everything. They were atomic. I had to close my eyes and lean into him to stop my now jelly-weak knees from giving out.
“Pants,” Damon commanded while still groping my chest.
I shimmied out of my leggings with as much dignity as I could manage. It seemed he was too busy with my boobs to sniff those, I noted with amusement. Or maybe his freakiness had limits.
He cupped me between the legs before I could take off my panties, driving me backwards toward
