Page 148 of The Contract

I walk toward him, slow and measured, each step deliberate.

The jersey shifts with my movements, the cool air brushing over my exposed skin, tightening my nipples beneath the soft fabric.

His gaze tracks every inch of me, his breathing deepening, his pupils dilating as I draw closer.

I stop just in front of him, the space between us humming with anticipation.

The wind carries the faint scent of his cologne, and suddenly, I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to think.

I just want him.

I know he wants me too.

He wants me to break my own rules.

He won’t push me—won’t be the one to cross that final line—but he wants me to.

I see it in the way his body tenses, like he’s holding himself back from reaching for me. He’s waiting, silently daring me to be the one who finally snaps.

So, I do.

With deliberate slowness, I lift one knee onto the lounge chair, then the other, sinking onto his lap, straddling him.

His breath hitches, his hands instantly finding my thighs, his grip firm and warm as he drags them up, cupping my ass in both palms.

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat, like he’s been starving for this—waiting for me to do what he’s craved from the very beginning.

I reach for the beer bottle in his hand, prying it from his grip as his fingers flex against my skin, his hold tightening as though he needs to feel me, to reassure himself that I’m really here.

Tilting the bottle to my lips, I take a slow sip, my throat working as the cold liquid slides down—a stark contrast to the heat simmering between us.

Damien watches me like a man on the verge of losing control, his lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven. He looks drunk—not on alcohol, but on me.

On my proximity.

On the fact that I’ve finally given in.

I don’t set the bottle down just yet. I want to savor this, to let it stretch.

His hands move, slow but deliberate, trailing up my spine, guiding me closer as he presses his lips, then his nose, to the column of my throat.

He drags his mouth up the length of my skin, his breath hot, teasing, sending shivers cascading down my spine.

I take another sip, my hand slipping to the back of his neck to steady myself, and the moment the bottle leaves my lips, I set it down on the side table, both my hands now free.

Free to touch him.

Free to feel him.

I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into the firm muscle as I shift, arching against him, grinding against the thick length pressing beneath me.

The friction is intoxicating.

The heat unbearable.

I’m soaked, aching, clenching around nothing as my body begs for more—for him.

His hands tighten on my ass, fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me harder against him, guiding my movements, making sure I feel him.

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