Page 12 of Bunker Down, Baby

It’s still there.

“Careful,” I warn. She has no idea what she’s asking for with those innocent eyes and not so damn innocent lips.

“I like careful men,” she whispers, voice dripping with pure fucking sin.

My fingers tighten around her wrists. “No,” I breathe, dragging her hands up, pressing them above her head against the wet tile.

She gasps.

“You like men who lose control,” I say.

Her lips part, eyes locked on mine, heat swimming in them.

And fuck, fuck, I should stop.

I should.

But I don’t.

Instead, I do the exact thing she wants.

I press into her, letting her feel exactly how much she’s getting to me.

Her breath shudders.

My grip tightens.

She’s so fucking soft. So small against me, and yet, she’s the one who brought me here. The one who stole me.

I should punish her for it.

I should walk away.

I should…

Her hips shift against mine, just the barest movement, and a groan rips out of my throat.

“That’s more like it,” she purrs.

I’m already lost. I know it. But I don’t stop. Can’t.

I press in, pinning her against the wet tile, my grip still tight around her wrists. She’s so fucking soft under my hands, but she’s not fragile. No, she’s looking up at me like she won something, like she knew I’d snap.

And I hate it.

I hate how she’s right.

I hate how much I fucking want her.

Her hips shift against mine, and a low, wrecked sound rumbles in my chest before I can stop it.

Her grin turns lethal. “That’s more like it.”

I let out a sharp breath, crushing my mouth to hers.

Her lips are soft, too fucking soft, but the way she responds isn’t. She meets me bite for bite, pure, unrepentant hunger, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip, her tongue sweeping into my mouth like she owns me.

Fuck.

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