Page 18 of Wicked Mistletoe

He knows exactly how he’s messing with me, and hell if I can hide it. Not when he’s crowding me like this and smelling as mouth-watering as he does. My hand twitches up, half-expecting to find drool at the corner of my lips.

“I’m fine,” I manage to croak out, though my voice is a bit too breathless… too needy.

The elevator dings, and we spill into the lobby. Still, he doesn’t give me even a moment to collect myself. His arm snakes around my waist like an iron band as we walk out of the building. The limo idles at the curb, and Alfred is already outside opening the back door for us without a single word.

I slide in first; Rafael right behind me. What felt like a spacious interior earlier now feels almost suffocating. He’s sitting so close to me that his thighs press into mine. I fan my flushed face with my hand, but it’s useless; I’m burning up from the inside out. Shrugging off my coat, I hope for some relief, but it only seems to amplify the intense, searing heat that radiates from his presence.

“Champagne?” Rafael asks, nodding towards the well-stocked mini-bar in the corner as he raises the partition between us and Alfred. The soft whir of the mechanism seals us in our own private world.

“I’m good, thanks.” The two glasses of wine from earlier are already working their magic, warming my blood and loosening me up more than I’d like. I need to keep my head clear for… whatever this is.

He shrugs and leans in, way too close, his breath hot on my ear as he says, “Tell me,amorina, are you wet for me?”

A gasp tears from my throat, my whole body going rigid the second his hot, firm palm clamps down on my thigh. “Rafael,” I whisper, his name a shaky mix between a plea and a warning.

“It’s okay, little wife. I just want to play,” he purrs, his fingers creeping down my leg in an infuriatingly slow, teasing way until they find the hem of my dress. My breath hitches, stuck somewhere between frustration and heat. But all I do is watch helplessly as he gathers the material and pulls it up, inch by torturous inch, before his fingers start their wicked crawl back up my thigh.

“I’m—I’m not your wife.”

“Not yet. But you will be. Soon.” The certainty in his voice sends goosebumps racing over my skin, and a pathetic whimper slips out as his rough hand keeps climbing higher and higher and higher, until—I cry out, my head slamming back into the seat when he cups me over my panties.

The pressure is unbearable. Heaven and hell all at once. Exquisite, but…not enough.

“Fucking hell.” His low curse ring in my ear, and I moan shamelessly, shifting in my seat to press myself harder into his palm, craving more friction, more pressure, more everything.

But then, just like that, he pulls his hand away, leaving me aching, breathless.

Bastard.

“No,” I whine, clutching at his jacket, trying to pull him back. “Finish me.”

“We’re here,” he announces, smoothing down my dress like he wasn’t just about to detonate me. I blink, dazed, and peer out the window, struggling to focus on the world beyond our heated bubble. It takes several heartbeats to realize we’re at my condo.

No, no, no. Not now. Not when I’m soclose…

A reckless idea takes root in my lust-addled brain. “Walk me up to my apartment,” I command, beyond caring how needy I sound. If he leaves me hanging again like he did this morning, I might lose it.

He chuckles as he rubs the back of his hand across my flushed cheek. “Whatever my little queen wishes, she gets.”

His eyes scan me, confirming no part of me is exposed, then he opens the partition and instructs Alfred not to wait for him. With that, he opens the back door, and I stumble out after him, feeling like I’m stepping off a roller coaster.

“Whoa, you good?” he asks, grabbing my arms to steady me.

Hell no, I’m not good. I’m a mess of quivering limbs and burning desire.

“Yes,” I mumble, failing miserably to keep the shakiness from my voice.

He gives me a moment to find my balance before guiding me into the building. As soon as we’re in the elevator, I’m on him. My hands fist in his shirt, my body seeking his heat, and he chuckles again, bringing his hand to my waist, “Easy,amorina.”

Frustration boils over, and I groan, dropping my face into his chest. His free hand slides into my hair and massages my scalp in soothing circles, but the tender gesture only makes me crave him more.

“Stop. Teasing. Me.”

“Teasing?” he echoes, amusement coloring his tone.

An eternity passes before the elevator finally opens on my floor, and I practically drag him out and down the hallway, consumed by a singular thought: I need him now.Now. Now. Now.My hands shake as I fumble through my purse, cursing under my breath until I finally fish out my keys and manage to unlock the door.

As I lock the door behind us, Rafael surveys the living room like a hawk on the hunt, then he quickly goes into the kitchen, and finally the bedroom. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was on a mission to sniff out potential danger, not that I care—I’m too busy trying not to explode.

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