I can’t even question what’s come over me. I don’t kiss men I don’t really know. I definitely don’t grope them either. I’m no prude, but I’ve never had something like this happen to me. It feels so random, so completely out of character. Scary and exhilarating and exciting and—
“You’re thinking too much.” He grabs hold of my hips and guides me backward, until I bump against the wall with a startled gasp. Taking my hands, he raises my arms above my head, pinning my wrists with his firm grip. “You need to learn how to just feel.”
Before I can offer any sort of argument, he leans in to kiss me, softly at first. A teasing, gentle caress of his lips that makes me want more. His kiss slowly becomes harder, then hungrier, until I feel like I’m about to lose my mind—my very soul—to his greedy, wicked mouth.
God, he’s so right. I need to forget everything and just lose myself in the moment. Lose myself in him. Let go of all my troubles, my hang-ups, my wariness over getting involved with Gage. I want to feel his hands. His mouth. His tongue, his fingers, his . . .
He breaks away to blaze a trail with his lips along my jaw, down my neck. My hands are still pinned in his grip, and I struggle against it, wanting to touch him.
Needing to touch him.
“If I let you go, are you going to run?” He breathes the question against my neck, his teeth nibbling the sensitive skin.
I shake my head. No way am I going to run away from this, though a tiny voice deep inside my mind tells me I absolutely should, that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life. “No.”
His grip gentles on my wrists, his thumbs sweeping across my wildly beating pulse. I shiver at the contact, shocked at how he can illicit my body’s response with the lightest of touches.
“I think I like having you trapped.” He pushes my hands together and grabs hold of both of my wrists with one big hand, his other hand sliding down my front, between my br**sts, one finger trailing down the center of my stomach to stop just at the waistband of my jeans, sending shivers cascading all over my skin.
“I’m sure you do,” I say, trying for sarcastic, but yet again, I just sound breathless. Needy.
Damn it.
A smile curves his lips, the sight of it taking my breath away. “I’d like having you this way even more if you were naked.”
Oh my God. I should tell him to go to hell right here, right now. We are so not doing this. Not doing it. Not doing it . . .
He slips his hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my stomach, and I close my eyes, all protests, all thought forgotten. All I can do is lose myself in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers curl around the waistband of my jeans before they move for the button. He undoes it easily, sliding down the zipper, brushing against the front of my panties, and I open my eyes, press my lips together to keep from crying out.
The jerk knows I’m holding back. His smile turns arrogant as he pushes first one side of my jeans down over my hips, then the other. He’s surprisingly agile with one hand, considering he’s still holding my wrists against the wall.
Not like I’d move them anyway. I sort of like being so open and vulnerable to his perusal. His touch.
God, why though? Why should I leave myself so open and vulnerable? Being with him makes me feel free. It’s exhilarating in the most scary, forbidden way.
He’s temptation personified and for once in my life, I want to completely give in to sin and not worry about the consequences.
“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice low. I need an answer. I need to hear that he’s just as lost to this as I am. If he says the wrong thing, I should put an end to it right now. Kick him out and hope like crazy I never see him again.
Liar. You’d be devastated if you never saw him again.
He lifts his head, slipping a finger beneath the thin elastic waistband of my panties, touching the bare, sensitive skin of my stomach. I hold my breath, waiting for him to slip that finger lower, wanting it between my legs. “Do you have to ask?”
Smug bastard. “I don’t like you,” I remind him. Reminding myself, too. I really don’t. He’s trying to buy up my family’s property so he can turn it for profit, and we’ll be left with nothing but some cash in the bank, our legacy gone. I need to focus on that. How he wants to end our presence, how he wants to squash my secret dream.
But all I can do is savor his touch and want more. More, more, more.
“Good,” he grunts. “I don’t really like you either.” All the while that finger trails lower, teasing down the front of me until he pulls completely away and out from beneath my underwear.
I feel the loss keenly, the bastard. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” He grins, leaning in to press his mouth to mine as he lets go of my wrists. “Don’t touch you? Don’t stop? Which is it, Marina?” He whispers the questions across my lips, his own hot and delicious. I’m torn. I don’t know what to do. I want him to stop. But then again, I want him to keep going. I want to know what it feels like to be with Gage.
Feel him move inside me. Know what he looks like when he comes.
Closing my eyes, I fight my inner battle. And surrender myself to him.
Gage
SHE’S A GORGEOUS sight, pressed against the wall, her jeans hanging halfway down her thighs, wearing the most innocent yet sexy panties I think I’ve ever seen. They’re white cotton, trimmed in delicate lace, the fabric so sheer I can see her pubic hair. A tiny white bow dots the center of the waistband, and the same silky ribbon ties around her hips, bows dotting either side of her.