Page 125 of Bottles & Blades

Thirty-Nine

Tiff

I’m notgood enough of a man to resist you.

I shift closer, pressing our bodies together and the hard jut of his erection sets my insides on fire. “I don’t need you to be anything but yourself.”

His eyes flare, but he doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t tear his gaze from mine, doesn’t step back. “We don’t have to do this now.”

“Iwantto do this.”

“I won’t ask again,” he warns, the hand on my breast convulsing, hips jutting forward.

I moan softly. The hard ridge of him feels good, reminds me of the times I’ve ridden him, the pleasure it’s brought me,he’sbrought me, even with far too many layers of clothes between us. “Yes, you will.”

“Baby—”

“You will,” I say. “And my answer will still be yes, honey. Because I want this and I want you, and I know you’ll make it beautiful.”

A shudder slides through his frame.

But then he’s moving, scooping me up, carrying me to the bed.

I gasp as I flop down onto the mattress, but I don’t even bounce twice before he’s coming over the top of me, his lips hitting mine, his leg coming between mine.

“Christ, baby,” he mutters, trailing his hand along my side, dragging up my skirt. His eyes are hot when they lock onto mine. “That’sa pair of panties.”

“Because there’s hardly any fabric to them?”

He grins, finger tracing the narrow strip of fabric that forms the waistband of the G-string. “Yup.”

I laugh…at least until his finger keeps moving.

Because then I’m moaning as he strokes along the seam of my thigh, shivering, my legs spreading of their own accord, something I know he likes because his grin widens and his eyes fill with heat.

Withneed.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, that finger still moving, nudging the lacy material of my underwear to the side. “Plump lips. So damned wet.” He swipes through the liquid evidence of my desire, lifts it to his mouth and sucks. “So fucking sweet,” he rasps.

“Jean-Mi,” I groan.

“I’m going to make you come, buttercup,” he says, “and then you’re going to spread wide and take me.”

“Orders,” I manage to push out, even though my lungs are working in rapid succession, even though nerves and need, pleasure and anticipation are winding through me.

“You like them.”

I do.

Almost as much as I like the way he drags down my panties, tossing them to the side.

But he doesn’t dive between my thighs as I half expect—or maybe, half hope.

Instead, he comes back over the top of me, reaching for the straps of my lingerie, dragging one of them down my shoulder, then the other, trapping my arms against my sides.

“Jean-Mi.”

A glimmer of wicked weaving through his eyes.

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