Page 95 of The Love Dare
He rolls her onto her back so fast she sucks in a sharp breath in surprise, heat immediately flooding to her core. Tyler holds her wrists against the mattress and runs his nose along her jawline until his lips reach her ear. “You want to be punished?”
Yes.
No.
Wait.
She shakes her head before the heady press of lust takes away all her sense. “I want answers, Briggs.”
He breaks character, mouth pulling up at the edges. “I slipped one of the assistants a hundred bucks to print me out an article on Shakespeare’s most romantic quotes.”
“Ha!” she shouts in victory.
“But I remembered most of them,” he cuts in quickly.
“You did not!”
“Okay, I didn’t,” he admits, wrinkling his nose at her. “But I did spend hours alone in a lot of hotel rooms committing them to memory a second time, so that’s got to count for something, right?”
“It’s everything,” she whispers, blinking away tears at the image of him propped up against the headboard, clutching a handful of papers in his hand, reading them and rereading them, over and over, willingly throwing himself back into his worst nightmare all for the sole purpose of putting a smile on her face. “Not because of the quotes, though. Because of you.”
“Yeah?” he whispers, vulnerability painted across his beautiful face.
“I don’t need pretty words, Ty.” She looks up at him, caged within the potent might of his body, entirely at his mercy, yet somehow aware that in this moment, she’s the one with all the power. “All I need is you.”
He steals a kiss, then, as though he wants to snatch the words from her very soul. “I need you, too. All the time. Always.” He breathes the words over her skin like a promise. Goose bumps rise along her flesh. “But right now, I need you on all fours.”
He flips her without warning.
Fire flares along every inch of her skin.
If their first time was like a trip up to the heavens, this second time shoots them straight back down to hell. And the third time sinks them even farther. When the sun starts to peek back over the horizon, she’s pretty much convinced he reallyhasbeen fantasizing about this moment for years, because that shit wastoo inventive to come up with on the fly. She’ll never question the logistics of a creative brief ever again. Then again, maybe she will. Tyler would probably love the challenge.
She has no idea what time they eventually succumb to sleep, but when a loud banging wakes them in the morning, it’s clear it was late. Winnie groans and buries her head into Tyler’s chest, as if his warmth might chase away the drummers going to town inside her skull.
News flash, it doesn’t.
“Go away!” Tyler shouts.
“Ow.” Winnie winces. “Too loud.”
“Sorry, but?—”
He stops cold at the sound of the front door opening. They both freeze, tracking the dullthudof footsteps in the hallway. Winnie looks up. He glances down. They share the exact same thought at the exact same time.
“They won’t actually?—”
“They aren’t going to?—”
The bedroom door swings open and two cameras rush in before they can move. Nina follows close behind, her gaze sharp as she begins clocking various points around the room, directing the crew in a frenzy.
“I see underwear—there and there. Empty wineglasses. A shirt. A dress. Where’s her bra?” She clicks her tongue, then grins victoriously. “There! On the chair.”
“What the FUCK?” Tyler snarls.
Nina meets his gaze for half an instant. “I told you 6 a.m. It’s not my fault you weren’t ready. Oh, perfect, wrappers on the nightstand.”
Winnie glances to the side in abject horror. When Nina told them they had eight hours, she thought it meant they had eight hours of peace. Eight hours of freedom. Not eight hours to the second before the cameras started rolling again. For someinsane reason, Winnie thought this at least would be a little bit private, but who was she kidding? Nothing is sacred to these people. Everything is just a pound of flesh to pry free.
