Page 16 of Her Dirty Defender

No rush. No pressure. Just heat.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t rush to strip off his shirt like I expected.

No, he watches me like he has all night and could spend it looking at me until I melt into a puddle at his feet.

His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every inch. Making sure I don’t change my mind.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the hem of my tank top, needing to do something,anything, to break this tension. I don’t want to show hesitation or vulnerability. Don’t want him to suspect that I’ve never done this before.

But I need something—this,him—to be on my terms.

I pull my tank top over my head and kick off my boots.

His jaw tightens, fists clenching, his gaze roaming over my body in my jeans and bra. I don’t do lacy and feminine—he’ll just have to deal with my practical underwear.

But the flare of heat in his eyes leaves me in no doubt that he likes what he sees.

But he's still—too still.

I reach for my jeans, fumbling the button.

“Slow down.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “What’s the rush?”

The question catches me off guard. “I'm not?—”

“You don't have to prove anything to me,” he murmurs. “I already like what I see.”

It would be easier if he were another cocky player who wanted to get laid and move on. If he didn't read me so well.

But the way he looks at me—patient, knowing, almost tender—makes me want things I shouldn't. Things I’ve repressed to keep everyone else comfortable. The messy, chaotic me I try to hide.

His eyes spark with something, as if he sees right through my practiced confidence to the nervousness underneath.

But instead of calling me out, he smiles, slow and dangerous. “Take your time. We've got all night to learn about each other.”

The gentleness in his voice makes this harder.

I don't want gentle.

I want fast and hot.

I don’t want this tomeananything.

I don’t wanthimto mean anything.

I should walk away right now before he figures out my casual demeanor is all a pretense. “We agreed on no complications.” My voice shakes. “No questions.”

He shrugs as he closes the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. “That was before you got me curious. Why are you trying so hard to run from who you are?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.Would it kill him to stop being so perceptive?

My attempt at a carefree laugh sounds more like a constipated goose. “I don't know what you mean. No secrets here. Honestly, my biggest secret is that I once got stuck in a sweatshirt and had to be cut out with scissors.”

He huffs a laugh as he stalks toward me. I back up until I hit the wall. He braces one hand beside my head, caging me in. My knees buckle, causing me to wobble. His other hand settles on my hip, steadying me. The heat of his body is everywhere, making it hard to think.

Adrenaline surges through me, making my hands tremble and my breathing choppy. I’m caught between the instinct to run and the reckless, aching need to melt into his touch.

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