I dare you.
Did she dare? Roxy paused a hairsbreadth from West’s lips and wondered how she’d gone twenty-two years without realizing freedom could be the ultimate trap. She valued the power to pick the star by which she charted her course and never worried overmuch about occasionally searching for signs from Karma or fate or guardian angels to make the choice. Freedom included the right to consider anything personally relevant.
The important thing was to choose, because abdicating amounted to a default choice, and no matter how easy it seemed, it came with a boatload of consequences. She’d learned that lesson the brutal way, and it was one she’d promised Karma, fate, guardian angels, and most importantly, herself, she’d never forget. Yet right now she wished someone else would pick the star, chart the course, and sail her along to whatever consequences awaited. Someone like take-charge Officer Donovan, for instance, who typically didn’t hesitate to establish control.
Too bad tonight he wasn’t going to make it that easy for her. He’d put the rudder squarely in her hands, but the move wasn’t nearly as fair as it seemed. Not after he’d taught every other part of her body how deftly his mouth delivered pleasure, to the point the one part of her still denied a demonstration now suffered something close to all-out agony to experience the same treatment.
“I dare you,” he repeated, moving his lips closer.
Hers opened, and in her mind’s eye she saw herself presenting her tongue to him like a schoolgirl at communion, except it tingled with the kind of hot anticipation she’d once associated with hard liquor. Oh no. Definitely not fair.
Did fair play really matter? Was it fair to hold back out of some superstitious sense of self-preservation? What if this time there would be no end to anybody’s suffering until their mouths came together like two animals in heat finally mating in a fast, wild frenzy?
But then what? Would she crawl out of his bed hours from now with every recess of her body completely satisfied and this particular superstition put to rest, or would she leave some fundamental piece of herself with him—a part she’d find difficult to live without when she moved on? Because she would be moving on. That aspect of her plan was nonnegotiable. She had places to go, and even if she didn’t, she couldn’t stick around Bluelick sharing “ice cream” with him and hoping her past never caught up with her. If it did, she’d for sure lose Gibson, possibly her freedom, and definitely any respect she’d earned from West.
Did she dare?
No, she did not. But rather than own up to falling short of her reckless reputation—incredible what you took pride in when you didn’t have much—she grazed his open mouth and then slid lower and licked her way down his throat…his chest.
“Roxy,” he growled and sounded genuinely disappointed in her.
She refused to let that sting, because he’d given her the choice, by God, and she’d made the safest one for both of them. Besides, she knew how to ease his disappointment. Was eager to do it, actually, and he was eager to let her if the drumroll of his heartbeat meant anything. Just as she prepared to get into position, however, he crouched and lifted her over his shoulder. “Not here.”
Whaa?
A couple long strides brought them around his bed. He tore the spread off and tossed it on the floor. “Here,” he said and lowered her until her toes touched the cotton. “You’re going to be on your knees awhile, Roxy. Might as well be comfortable.”
Who but West would think to cushion her from the hardwood while at the same time warn he’d keep her down there until he was good and ready to let her rise? It weakened her bones, the way he made her feel cared for, protected, yet thoroughly useable. Those contrary sensations intensified as he put her on her knees, arranging her exactly as he wanted her, but lingering to tip her chin up, brush back the hair that had worked free of her ponytail. Touch her cheek. He stared at her, searching her face for what, she couldn’t guess. Then, without warning, he slid a finger into her mouth. She automatically closed her lips around it and welcomed him. His eyes darkened and shifted to the wall behind her. As she watched, his chest expanded with a long, indrawn breath.
“Those panties have been on my mind since the morning you snuck them into my laundry,” he said, still staring a hole through the wall.
Not the wall, she realized. The mirror. He’d positioned them in front of his closet, so he had a view of her from the front and the back. Immediately, she imagined how she must look, kneeling before him with her clothes askew, and her once tidy ponytail sagging, sucking on his finger with such anticipation of what was to come she’d completely forgotten about presenting herself in seductive way. Like naked, for instance, instead of in a haphazard knot of garments. She reached for her skirt, currently tangled at her waist, intent on stripping it off along with the red lace thong.
“No. Leave the skirt just as it is. Leave everything. Understand?”
He didn’t remove his finger, so she nodded. Feeling oddly vulnerable, she returned her hands to the floor and looked up at him.
“You want to know why?”
She nodded again.
“I think you’re sexy as hell in short shorts, or a slinky dress, or a barely there bikini. I appreciate tattoos and skimpy underwear as much as the next guy. I know you make your choices to please yourself, and not for effect, but just in case you had any doubt, they are very effective.” He pushed another finger between her lips and delivered his next words accompanied by quick, emphatic thrusts. “Very. Fucking. Effective.”
Aftershocks reverberated between her legs, strong enough to make her moan.
“But tonight, I want to see you undone.” He curled his fingers and stroked the roof of her mouth.
