Page 25 of Auction Time
“With me here?” She winced.
“Well, you’re the one who’s fifteen minutes late. I’m talking to you all sweaty and dirty,” I taunted, loving the way she blushed even more. “Got to shower and change. You can ask me your two questions while I do that.”
“You’re going to shower and change with me watching?” Her gaze snapped wider.
“What’s the problem? I have no effect on you, so you should be fine.” Before she could answer, I whipped my shirt off, dragging it over my head. Her eyes snapped straight to my abs and the dragon tattoo on the edge of my hip.
I loved my body more than ink, so unlike a lot of the guys, I had that less-is-more look. One dragon tat on my hip, and another dragon on my back, so the attention could be on the serious work I put into the mass of muscles that lined my torso.
“Unless you were lying,” I added, cutting into the silence.
She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together. Taking that habitual step backward as I stepped closer.
Another step closer, and she was against the wall with nowhere to go besides back the way we’d come or toward the shower.
I smiled down at her and started undoing the zipper on my fly. That made my joggers slide down and nestle at the edge of my hips. It revealed the waistband of my Calvin Klein boxers and so much more skin than I would have shown on the regular.
She wasn’t even trying now. I took another step forward and placed my hands out onto the wall just above her head. I didn’t block her escape because I wanted her to see that she was choosing to be here.
“Not answering, Miss Cartwright?” I prodded.
Her gaze clung to mine. “We need to talk about the article.”
“That was fifteen minutes ago. You’re on my time now.” I nodded. “I have a whole other list of activities lined up for us.”
“Activities…” she breathed, and damn, did I ever love the way her eyes darken with desire the longer she stared at me.
I was the devil, and she was the angel indeed, and like ten years ago, I wanted so badly to dirty her up.
Except there was nothing to stop me now. No good thoughts existed in my mind. Nothing to tell me I shouldn’t have her because I couldn’t treat her the way I did the others. Nothing to tell me she was too pure for me to spoil.
The years of curiosity took over, enhanced by the slight part in her full, luscious lips. Like an invitation to treat, to taste.
So, I did. It was my turn now.
She stilled as I lowered to the warmth of her lips and ran my tongue over her bottom lip to taste her.
She’d kissed me last night, and I got the sample of her. Honey and roses. That was what had filled my mind last night when I got my first taste. Same as it did now. But now, as I pressed harder against her lips and she kissed me back, I tasted passion and desire.
I wanted to rip that little top off her and see just how much little Vanessa Cartwright had grown up, but her delicate hands on my bare skin sated my needs. She smoothed her hand up my chest, right up to my face and over my beard, cupping my face and moving closer to kiss me harder.
The sharp need of her kiss aroused the hell out of me and sent me right over the edge. A cruel wave of need swept through me, fueling me to take her right here and now as the kiss turned hungrier and her lips worked mine.
When she pressed against my chest, I felt the weight of her breasts pushing against me, begging to be touched. Begging me to touch her. In answer to the plea, I smoothed my hands down the silk of her arms and cupped her left breast, running my finger over the tight, taut, diamond-hard nipple fighting against the restriction of the fabric.
She moaned into my mouth, melting against me the way she did last night.
I wanted to see more of her, more of what she’d implanted in my wild imagination when I painted the naked fairy.
I kissed my way down the velvet skin of her neck and nuzzled my face between the deep valley between her breasts when she pressed into the wall.
Allowing the wild hunger to guide me, I held her in place with one hand and undid the little buttons of her top with the other. The sharp rise and fall of her chest edging me to continue. The soft cotton lay open, revealing a little butterfly clasp holding the black lacey cups of her bra together.
I was used to taking what I wanted, and this should have been no different. Here she was in my arms, mine for the taking, and yet I felt the need to stop as I was about to unveil the part of her body where my imagination began.
This was as much as I’d seen of her before. On her sixteen-year-old body, the soft swells of her breasts were nothing in comparison to the mounds that heaved before me, and the slender length of her body was nothing in comparison to the perfect curves sculpted into her waist and hips.
My gaze climbed back up to meet hers, her desire-filled eyes that were a mingle of want and fear.
