Because why would he?
Why would he even care?
“You’re all I want.”
His words resound through my mind as though he’s speaking them on a loop, his impossible words that make no freaking sense and yet produce a symphony of pleasure inside me anyway, swirling around endlessly, making me want to grab onto him tighter.
He breaks off the kiss and I realize our bodies are pressed close, the hardness of his muscles bulging through his suit. A light salt-shaded smattering of facial hair has grown back since the party, giving him a carnal look. His intense eyes burn into me, his steel peppered hair swept to the side. His suit is the same winter-cloud color.
“I need to taste you,” he growls, pressing his hand into my ass cheeks.
Shivers move up my body.
A voice whispers in my mind that this isn’t happening, that it can’t be happening. And yet I can feel how physically close he is, the sultry pleasure of his breath moving over my skin, the goosebumps pricking my ass cheeks as he grabs me harder, rougher, as though he owns me.
Oh, God, I’d love for him to own me.
“Taste me?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says firmly, as though we’re in a business meeting. “All of you. I want to be strong. Fuck it, Dallas, I’ve tried to be strong. I wanted to grab you that night on the balcony and take you like the fucking savage I am right there. But I stopped myself. But I can’t stop myself anymore.”
My heart is a bolt of lightning, striking, again and again.
“Are you serious?” I gasp.
His hold tightens on me. My sex floods with heat and wetness and I feel like letting out a moaning song of desire. No, I don’t feel like it. I can hear myself. I hear the song. It fills the kitchen and causes Dom’s expression to warp into wolfish savageness.
“Your bedroom. Now.”
“But Poppet,” I whisper. “Can you give me a minute? I’ll get her set up in the spare room. She has a little nook in there.”
A smirk touches his lips. “Don’t take too long. I’m fucking starving to taste your sweetness.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, another shiver moving through me, compelling, powerful, capturing every part of me as I turn and walk on dream-fused legs toward my bedroom.
I pick up the wooden case containing the first editions, cradling it to my chest and carrying it carefully through my door. I place it on my desk, next to my laptop, and then turn to look for Poppet.
“Girl?” I whisper. “Where are you?”
I can’t help but smile – even wider than I already am – when I hear her answering moan from down the hallway. I glance out and see her standing at the door to the spare room, head tilted as if to say, I’m right here, safe and sound but out of the way … you know, because you’ve got business to handle.
“Good girl,” I say.
She turns and slinks back into the bedroom.
Not for the first time, I reflect that Poppet is probably one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever met.
I’m about to turn to tell Dom I’m ready – but are you? are you ready? aren’t you actually incredibly nervous? – when I feel his hands loop around my hips and his groin drive into my lower back. His manhood is a solid trapped mass in his suit trousers, grinding against me.
“You’re going to cream all over my mouth,” he whispers in my ear, voice made husky with his desire. “Do you understand, Dallas? You’re going to fucking cream for me.”
I get the sense that we’ve both silently agreed to ignore the massive elephant in the room, that being Gabriel Smith, my dad, Dom’s best friend. A passing sense of guilt touches me, but then it’s whooshed away with the motion of Dom guiding me into my bedroom and shutting the door behind us. He glances around at the boxes and the general mess.
“Bad girl,” he laughs deeply, spanking me lightly on the ass.
I let out a squeal and spin on him. “Hey, who said you could spank me?”
“I fucking did,” he snarls, and then grabs my shoulders and directs me to the bed. “You’re driving me crazy in that dress. The way the material dances around you and outlines your figure. Fuck. That body was made to be worshipped and tasted and spanked. Lie down, Dallas. Lie on your back. Now.”
Lust drives me to the bed, onto my back, even as nerves hiss in my ear that this isn’t right. I’m not his sort of girl. When he finds out …
But then his powerful, certain hands are gliding up my thighs and toward my sex. And I can’t think about the what-ifs anymore. All I can focus on is the feeling of his hands tickling at my panties, gripping them and pulling them down, the fabric rustling against my skin, and causing beautifully torturous shimmers to move through me.
He tosses them to the floor and then just pauses with his hands on either side of my sex, leaving burning imprints of his palm. I risk a look down – even now, nerves pulsate endlessly around me – and see that his face has warped into something like fascination. A light smirk toys at his lips as he glances at me briefly.
“Jesus,” he groans. “I knew your pussy would be perfect, but this is something else. You’re already wet for me, aren’t you? You’re already fucking drenched for me.”
I try to reply but all that comes out is a shivering moan that breaks off into a gasp as he grinds his palm against my center. He smears my wetness over my lips and then presses his finger against my clit and holds it there, applying more pressure each moment.
“Enough games,” he snarls. “I need to taste that wetness. It’s too tempting. I—I can’t stop, not with
