Page 14 of Wicked Savage

I nod, trying to push down the rush of anticipation. “What made you want to?”

We reach room number nine, and I nearly choke on my breath as the door clicks shut behind us. I might actually throw up.

He turns to face me, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. The fabric of his shirt strains against every inch of hard muscle, and it takes everything in me not to let my eyes linger longer than they should.

“I was looking for you, actually. Then you showed up.”

The shock must be written all over my face. “You were? Why?”

A half-smile plays on his lips, like he’s holding something back. “I guess we’ll find out.”

With a swift movement, he steps past me, heading straight for a single sofa. He drops the bag at his feet and sinks down, his presence filling the room in a way I can’t ignore.

“Sit.” He pats the spot beside him, and I feel the air thicken with an undercurrent of something electric, making me shiver.

I glance around the spacious room: dimly lit, a four-poster bed in the far-right corner, the soft glow from a table lamp casting shadows over the sheets. My stomach turns to knots.

Was he serious? Can we just talk?

Clearing my throat, I make my way toward him, every step weighted with a mix of trepidation and excitement. As I settle beside him, he moves with a fluidity that makes my pulse spike. His arm wraps around my lower back, pulling me toward him until the side of his leg presses against mine, and my body reacts—every nerve alive, as though he’s touching me everywhere.

I’ve never experienced anything like this. With anyone. But with him, everything is different. More intense. I don’t know what he wants, but I can feel it: the pull, the magnetic force between us.

With him, I just want to feel more.

“How old are you, exactly?”

His question startles me, but the brush of his fingers creeping up my dress, grazing my knee, makes everything else fade away, leaving only the heat of his touch.

“Does it matter?” The words come out strained as his fingers slide higher, teasing me through the fabric.

His gaze locks with mine, and suddenly, every sensation sharpens, intensifying with a single glance.

“No, but I’m still curious.”

He kneads my inner thigh, and a soft moan slips from me. As it does, his other hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back as his eyes narrow.

“You can’t sound that fucking good and expect me to behave myself, leannan. And trust me, I’m really trying.”

“Never said I wanted you to.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his fingers sliding higher, almost to where I need him. “Who are you and what are you doing to me?” His voice is breathless, almost frantic, the question spilling from him like a desperate plea.

Before I can even process his next move, he grips my hips and lifts me with ease. In one fluid motion, he drops me onto his lap, a hand cradling my face while the other brushes lightly under my chin.

“You look much better on my lap.” A teasing smirk plays on his lips, making my stomach tighten.

Beneath me, his hard and heavy erection presses right into my center. My hips circle of their own accord, wanting to feel him inside me.

The backs of my fingers feather over the rough stubble of his hard jawline, needing to touch him everywhere. He groans, picking up my hand, kissing my palm. My body grows so overwrought with sensations, I may explode.

Is this what lust feels like? Is this what makes people crazed for one another? Because I get it now. I want him to the point that it doesn’t even make sense.

My thumb glides past his mouth, and he lets out a deep, throaty moan, kissing and nipping the pad.

“Tell me everything about yourself,” his husky drawl demands while his palms drift down my arms.

My breasts ache, nipples pressing against the soft material of my dress.

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