Page 58 of The Pucking Date
I lean in, brush my mouth along the edge of her cheek.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate.” My voice is a rough purr.
She swallows. I feel it—tight and slow—against the base of my neck.
She’s going to kiss me.
Or slap me.
Or both.
And Jesus, either one will have me on my knees.
But instead, she steps forward and tries to grab the lace from my shoulder.
I catch her wrist. Not hard. But it stops her. My fingers slide down, slow and sure, and I pluck the red lace back into my palm.
She glares.
I smile.
“Not negotiating,” I croon.
She opens her mouth. Shuts it again. She’s flustered, furious, breathing uneven, cheeks flushed.
“You’re not keeping that,” she snaps, but her voice wavers. Then she lunges again.
I retreat, slow, controlled, eyes never leaving hers. Not far. But enough to make her decide how badly she wants to erase the space between us.
She freezes, chest heaving. The air between us crackles with electricity.
Instead of advancing, she watches, tense and trembling, as I move past her, deliberately letting my body brush hers. She gasps at the contact.
I crouch down, taking my time zipping up her suitcase, knowing she’s following every movement of my hands. When I rise, I’m near enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“Oh,” I add, voice dropping to gravel, eyes burning into hers. “Next time you pack a toy, maybe leave room for the real thing?”
Her mouth parts, breath coming in shallow pants. No sound comes out. Just a visible clench of her thighs, her body showing me how far gone she is.
I let her have the suitcase.
But not the lace.
Her fingers curl around the handle, knuckles white, but her eyes stay locked on mine—wild, wanting, waiting.
I twirl the red lace around my finger, then slide it slowly into my back pocket. “This one’s staying with me.”
“Enjoy it,” she breathes, voice rough with need she can’t hide. “That’s as close as you’ll get.”
A challenge dressed up as dismissal. She thinks I’ll back off. She thinks I’ll smirk and step away.
But tonight, I’m not that guy.
I take her in: flushed cheeks, rapid breath, the tremble she’s trying to hide in her fingers. She’s provoking me. Testing how far I’ll go.
And I’ve been patient long enough. Now I’m done playing.
“You sure about that?” I growl, stepping in until there’s not a breath left between us.
