Page 6 of The Rejected Wife

"Will you dance with me?" he murmurs.

It feels momentous, like my entire life is about to change. How can I deny him? I’m halfway to falling headlong in love with a man I only just met, while my soul insists I know him in a way I can’t rationally explain. Unable to speak, I nod. He takes my hand and places it on his shoulder, then flattens his big palm on the curve of my hip. Heat from his fingers sears through the material of my skirt and into my skin. He begins to move, and I follow.

I meet his gaze and feel drawn into those stunning, contrasting eyes of his. My feet don’t seem to touch the floor. I’m flying. This must be the most romantic gesture anyone has ever done for me. My heart melts even more. And when he steers me close enough that my thighs graze his powerful ones, my insides quiver. My core melts. My toes curl in my ballet flats. I can’t stop the shudder that runs through my body.

He senses my reaction, and his hold on me firms. "Are you cold?"

I shake my head.

"Do you want to keep dancing?"

I shake my head again.

His steps slow until we come to a halt. Norah Jones’ soulful voice sinks into my bones, twines through my blood, and shifts something deep inside of me. As if he senses it, he places my hand on his other shoulder and slides both of his big palms to the small of my back. He spans my waist, and I feel tiny and delicate in comparison to his much bigger frame. I feel protected, and oh, so turned on.

Our difference in height and weight marks him out as the alpha. The male. That primitive part of me recognizes his mastery over me. That animal part of my brain identifies him as the one who has control over my body. It’s so wrong that I feel this way. That in one stroke, he’s pushed aside the feminist part of me. The one which pushed me to be independent from my family. To refuse their help and try to create my own life, away from their influence.

Yet, here I am, standing inside the embrace of a man who comes from the same kind of background I swore to leave behind.Is that why a part of me recognized him right away? Because, while we’re different in so many ways, he’s also similar to me in some?

"What are you thinking?" he asks in a low, dark voice that has my insides fluttering with need.

"I’m not sure I’m capable of thinking much," I confess.

He lowers his face until his lips are a hairsbreadth from mine. "Good," he breathes. His mouth is so very close, and if I go up on my tiptoes, I’ll be connected to him. But his hold on my waist is firm. Without saying a word, he commands me to stay in place. And my body obeys. I can’t stop myself from tipping up my chin, though. His gaze lowers to my mouth. His nostrils flare. His chest rises and falls, and it’s my turn to feel a tremor grip him. He dips his chin, bridging that gap between us and, finally, brushes his mouth over mine.

4

Tyler

Soft. Sweet. I draw in her breath, relishing the sweet scent of apple blossoms that makes my mouth water. The taste of her lips is like honey; it arrows down to my groin. I’m instantly hard. Sparks flare in my belly. My fingers tremble on her waist with this yearning that grips me. My heart races in my chest, and when I swipe my tongue at the seam of her mouth, she parts it. Instantly, I slide my tongue over hers. The sparks turn into an inferno. My muscles bunch. My chest hurts. The emotions consume me. I can’t stop myself from hauling her closer, so we’re joined from thigh to stomach to chest. She must feel the evidence of my desire throb against her lower belly, for a moan leaves her lips.

I swallow it down, slide my palm down to cup her bottom and lift her.

She wraps her legs around me, hooks her ankles behind me, and goddamn, feeling the heat of her soft center through the clothes we’re wearing turns my blood into gasoline. The fire zips through my veins until I feel my body turn into a nuclear reactor of longing. I need to get closer to her. I need to feel her skin against mine, her hands on me, hear her soft sighs and whimpers, smell her, taste the dew of her arousal on my tongue.

My feet seem to move of their own accord until I reach a table adjacent to the one we’d occupied. This one is empty of any settings.

I place her on it and drag my fingers up the undersides of her thigh. She groans into my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my head.

I tilt my head, drag my tongue over her teeth, and she melts into me. Her surrender spurs my desire further. My thigh muscles bunch; my biceps turn into blocks of concrete. I need…to taste her.

I tear my mouth from hers and sink down to my knees between her legs. "Nobody will disturb us.”

She glances down, her eyes glazed, her breath coming in pants.

Did she hear what I said?When I plant my palm on her stomach and urge her back, she doesn’t protest. She folds back onto the table. Balancing herself on her elbows, she watches as I push her skirt up her thighs.

"Stop me," I urge her.

She bites her lower lip, then shakes her head.

"I want to eat you out," I say slowly, wanting to make sure I have her consent. "May I?"

When she nods, I groan. "Say yes, baby."

"Yes," she croaks. Then, "Yes," she says in a louder voice.

I drag my nose up the exposed skin of her thigh, and she cries out. She tips her head back until it touches the table. I push her skirt up over her hips and take in the white cotton of her panties. They’re plain, almost virginal, and a surge of possessiveness fills me. I bury my nose in the space between her legs and draw in deeply of her essence.

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