Page 142 of The Holiday Heartbreaker

A man.

She shook with her need, her need to be new, her need to be different. Her need to touch him.

She had never kissed a man in her life and now she was kissing a stranger. A man she didn’t know at all. A man she only knew bad things about.

But the house was clean and new, and he hadn’t made a move toward her. Not when he’d been naked and not now. He’d never once actually made her feel threatened.

He’d invaded her dreams. And maybe this was absolutely, utterly foolish. But she’d never been foolish in her life.

She’d been taught to revere sex as something sacred. Something that shouldn’t be done casually and yet part of her had always believed she needed to have something softer to introduce her to it. The truth was, she knew what turned her on. Didn’t it make more sense to pursue what she actually wanted? Rather than testing it out in a way she didn’t?

She wanted him. She’d never wanted a real flesh-and-blood man before. They’d always been figments of her imagination, tailored to her every imagined need.

He was all those things, made flesh.

It wasn’t foolish. It wasn’t even impetuous.

She’d dreamed of him. Of this.

It was...glorious.

He didn’t move for another beat, and then when he did, he was pure energy. With one hand he cupped her chin and with the other, he clamped his fingers around her wrists and walked her back against the wall of the cabin before drawing them up over her head and pinning them fast.

The dominant motion thrilled her.

How had he known?

That this was her secret, shameful fantasy.

Not a gauzy romantic wedding night. Not lovemaking. But a man who would handle her roughly. Dominate her. A man who would make her feel small and fragile, who would consume her. Overwhelm her.

How did he know?

It was perfect. And perhaps she should be terrified. She should certainly be ashamed. The world might have moved to a place where sex positivity reigned, but in her own life, it was all much more mystifying, not discussed, and hushed to the point of being a secret. And most especially, she had never known what to do with these desires. These ones that existed outside of romance altogether, and took up space somewhere much more carnal.

“Is this what you’re after?” he growled. He dragged his forefinger along her jawline, and it was rough. Just like she had fantasized. Just like she had imagined. And even though he held her fast, even though there was the illusion that she was trapped, he was asking. She knew that she could tell him no and she would be able to leave if she wished.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“I didn’t take you for a naughty girl,” he said. “I guess I was wrong.”

Was she? Was she naughty? Wicked? She didn’t feel bad about it, and she supposed that she should. She supposed that she should feel hideously ashamed, and yet the characterization lit her on fire.

“You kept on coming back, tempting fate. I should’ve known that this was what you were after. And it is what you’re after, isn’t it? A good rough fuck. Because you should know that I don’t do anything else.”

She nodded, unable to speak. She didn’t have words. None at all. Where would they come from? She was out of her depth, and yet, she found there was nowhere else she wanted to be. This man was the encapsulation of something that she hadn’t even been able to put words to only a few days ago. The restlessness.

This was her fantasy.

She didn’t know Zane Fox, not really. And perhaps what she was doing was foolish, and yet...

Wasn’t she entitled to something foolish?

He made it very clear what and who he was, she was not going into it with any illusions. Didn’t that matter? Wasn’t that all that mattered?

“I know what it is,” she said. “That’s how I want it.”

His lips curved into a smile, dangerous and feral. He cupped her jaw again, his hold tight, and then he slid his hand down to encircle her throat.

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