Page 7 of Savage Temptation
“Ah, um, a beach.”
His face relaxes.
The magnitude of what I’ve done suddenly occurs to me. I broke into Atticus Savage’s penthouse to play with the prototype of the Playground. The technology is rumored to be worth billions. I’m lucky he hasn’t called the cops yet.
His shoulders slump. I hate that I’ve ruined his night, but there’s no taking it back. I should have never agreed to the dare.
He sits on the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands.
I have to make this right. To make him see that I’m not some corporate spy. That this was a mistake.
“It was just for fun. I had no plans of being nefarious.”
He says nothing. Instead, his hand reaches out and grabs a handful of my dress. He gives it a quick yank, and I stagger toward him.
My breath catches in my throat. He’s never interacted with me likethisbefore. Like…
He’s drunk…
My heart sinks. How silly of me to think that Atticus would ever want me. I take a step back, but he doesn’t let go of my dress. Instead, he pulls me to him again and cups my jawline.
He looks me straight in the eye and says, “Don’t go.”
It’s then that I notice his tie is dangling around his neck and his button-up shirt is halfway undone, making his muscular chest visible through his thin undershirt.
I’ve seen him shirtless countless times, so this shouldn’t be a big deal.
Try telling that to my lady parts.
I clear my throat. “Why should I stay?”
“I need you,” he grinds with an anguished edge to his voice.
Our lips meet. I can’t say for certain whether he brought his to mine, or if it was me who initiated the contact. All I know is that we’re kissing, and it’s no little thing. His tongue darts between my lips, tangling with mine as his head shifts from side to side, trying to find the best angle to devour me.
And it feels so good to be consumed by this man.
He tastes like whiskey, and I wonder if he’ll even remember this in the morning. Or if I’ll be a mistake.
I remember reading a trashy romance novel of a thief caught in the night, forced to work off the debt they accumulated from a life of crime.
If that’s what this is, I’d gladly accept my punishment. Atoning for my sins has never been this tempting.
Strong arms lift me, setting me on the bed.
“Tessa,”Atticus rasps, his lips finding my ear as his hand slides under my dress, up my thigh, to my already moist panties. God, my pussy feels so sensitive, throbbing with want for him.
I moan against his mouth, and his kiss deepens. His fingers find the elastic of my panties, and he peels them down my thighs. He’s way too good at this, but I suppose most men would seem that way with how little experience I have.
Deft fingers find the hooks of my dress, popping them open as his mouth plants languid kisses down the column of my throat. He pulls me to the center of the bed, and as though I’ve suddenly woken from a dream, my hands come alive, touching his shoulders, his chest, frantically working the remaining buttons of his shirt.
My efforts make him chuckle. In one fluid motion, he takes my wrists and pins them above my head. His mouth presses to mine again, his tongue ever bold, breaching past my lips, filling me with hot strokes.
And then it all stops. Even the soft caress of his breath against my flesh is gone.
I swallow, hoping like hell I didn’t do something wrong, and when I finally gather my wits enough to say, “More.”
He replies with, “As you wish.”
