Page 44 of Watch Me Burn
“I can’t.” I hate the regret in my voice.
Damien’s gaze burns with intensity. My pulse hammers as he leans in, giving me time to pull away, and when I don’t, his mouth meets mine.
The first brush of his lips is light, a whisper of contact that makes my breath hitch. Tentative, careful, like our first kiss on the dance floor. They’re sinfully soft, a stark contrast to the hard body pressing close. His chest is solid muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My pulse roars in my ears. I tilt forward until the warmth pouring off him surrounds me and beckons me nearer. My hands flatten against the smooth cotton of his shirt. Underneath my palm, his heart pounds a wild rhythm, the force of it pulsing against my fingers.
His tongue sweeps along my lower lip, seeking rather than taking. I part for him, and a low growl escapes his throat, vibrating between us. His hands slide down my spine to settle at the small of my back, pulling me against him until our hips meet. My breath catches, and my legs turn liquid beneath me.
Stop. Pull away.
The words echo in my head, but my hands betray me, my treacherous fingers reaching up for the silver threading his temples, the hair I’ve been dying to touch since setting my damn eyes on him.
His impeccable styling, so pristine an hour ago, crumbles beneath my touch, and satisfaction blazes through me, as intoxicating as the whiskey on his breath.
Desire unfurls, restraint melting like honey between us as the kiss deepens. We breathe together, sharing the same heated air, mouths fusing in an unhurried rhythm. His teeth catch my upper lip, applying just enough pressure to make me gasp.
His arms lock around me, and the hard outline of his arousal presses against my abdomen. My back curves toward him, my body arching of its own accord. He growls low in his throat and pushes me backward, step by step, until glass meetsmy spine. The sudden chill against my bare skin makes me gasp, the contrast of the cold window and my scorching flesh enough to steal my breath.
He tilts my chin up, drawing me back to his mouth, and a slow fire ignites. The gentle pressure becomes something richer as the kiss turns languid. This is what I love about kissing, tongue stroking tongue in a dance that echoes deeper hungers.
His hands slide into my hair before trailing down my neck and spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, to grip my hips. His fingers dig in, sending sparks across my skin. The touch burns familiar, like my body already knows the shape of his hands. My nails find the nape of his neck as he claims my mouth with his.
He breaks away to trace my jaw with his lips.
“Damien…” His name escapes on a breath.
“Do you want to stop?” The words vibrate against my racing pulse. He nips with careful pressure, and shivers cascade along my spine.
My mind screams to flee, to remember the wolf waiting at home. But fire races through my veins, drowning out reason, even as guilt claws at my throat.
“We should slow down.”
He draws back just enough to meet my eyes. He’s no longer the composed executive but a man raw and unleashed.
“Slow down.” His lips twist with dark promise. “Not stop.”
My thoughts scatter as he sinks down. The powerful, untouchable Damien Wolfe on his knees before me. Air vanishes from my lungs.
His fingertips ghost beneath my dress, trailing heat up my calves, then my thighs. My core clenches as my dress climbs higher, and my chest stutters. He’s going to expose me here, pressed against glass, while the city lights witness everything.
His fingers dance higher on my thighs, burning away every coherent thought about why this is madness. Silk bunches at my waist, the fabric caught on the flare of my hips.
“Tell me to stop, Luna.” His thumbs graze the lace of my panties. “Tell me, and I will.”
My stomach tightens. I should insist he take me home, where in only a few hours I’ll be coming so hard I’ll forget all about Damien Wolfe. But my voice has fled, and the words won’t come.
“Your silence tells me everything.” His fingers curl into the waistband. “But I need to hear you say it, Luna. I need to know you want this as much as I do.”
The formality and his insistence on my explicit consent move me in ways I don’t expect. My chin drops.
“I want this. But I’m terrified.”
“Of me?” Lines crease between his brows.
“Of how much I want you. Of what this means.”
Warmth softens his features even as his eyes flame hotter. “We don’t have to define this right now. Tonight is for pleasure. Yours and mine.”
The lace whispers down my legs, a slow glide that makes my pulse stutter. His eyes stay fixed on mine, refusing to look away even as the fabric descends. Cool air kisses my exposed flesh, raising goosebumps across my skin. But the real tremors begin when Damien’s lips press against my thigh.
