Page 12 of Text Me, Take Me

The more I speak, the tighter his expression becomes. He looks pissed, and he’s smoldering again. It seems to be his signature look.

My attraction to him annoys me, so I go on the offensive again.

“Do you have a habit of stalking women? Or is that your kink?”

“You’re wrong,” he says sternly.

“Maybe this isn’t a panic room; maybe it’s a murder dungeon.”

He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, our bodies pressed close, just like at the interview. My body thrums with tension. My nipples tickle teasingly against the T-shirt. And far too late, I realize I’m not wearing a bra.

“Are we going to pretend you didn’t want me to save you?” he snaps.

“Could you carry the cat food into the kitchen, please?” I ask, my voice breathier than I would like.

He shrugs and turns away. I get the sudden, strange urge to reach out and smooth my hand down his sculpted back. Stupid, stupid!

He picks up the bag and walks toward the kitchen, Meatball trailing after him, drawn by the scent of the food. I hope, and not Dom.

Once the staircase is unguarded, I debate my options. Running will mean leaving Meatball behind. But just because I can’t call the cops on The Vultures – Mason has made sure of that, the blackmailing freak – it doesn’t mean I can’t call them on Dom.

I can go into his house, find the phone, and call the cops. Dom won’t hurt Meatball. He might have taken me, but he did it to protect me?—

Jeez, what am I even thinking?

I run for the stairs, clamber up them, then jump out the hatch and go for the door.

Locked. Again.

Dom runs up behind me, grabs my shoulders, and turns me to face him. He looks like a feral animal… and I like it. I know I shouldn’t. He slides his hands down my body and takes my hips in his hands as if he’s wanted to do it since I walked into his office earlier today.

“You asked why I was at your apartment,” he growls. “The answer: because you’re the sort of woman who makes a man feel drunk. You’re drop-dead gorgeous, with curves that make me feel alive. You can sass, you can run, but you can’t hide from the fact you want this too.”

“I don’t,” I whisper.

“Say that like you mean it.”

“I… duh-don’t.”

Speaking becomes difficult when he slides his hand between my legs. What the heck does he think he’s doing? He pushes against my sex through the fabric of the shorts. I gasp, then it’s like my body takes over, my hips moving against him.

“You want this,” he says. “You think you need to be strong, to run, to resist, but you don’t – you can’t. You fuckingneedthis.”

As he grinds his hand against my body, I believe him. I grind my core against his touch. Suddenly, for far too many confusing seconds, it all makes sense.

I grab onto his chest, sink my nails into his solid frame, letting out a heated moan. I’ve never felt pleasure like this before. I’ve never tasted this flavor of temptation.

“I followed you because I had to, because I knew you were going to be in my dreams tonight. I followed you because I was rock hard the second I saw you, Evie.”

He slips his hand beneath the shorts, gliding toward my naked lust. I almost let him. My mind is confused, but my body is certain. I want him to touch me, my needy pleasure point, my entrance. I’m getting wet. Fast.

He reaches all the way in, smoothing his hand over my folds, my tunnel.

I can’t let this happen.

“Stop,” I snap. “I mean it. Get your hands off me.”

He takes a step away, shuddering all over. “You’re irresistible,” he groans.

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