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Not. Yet.
Last night, that little piss-ant Tyler thought Katherine was screwing me and Gabe. And she’d leveled him flat with a beautifully timed ‘Not yet.’
I shouldn’t let that go to my head. Or my heart. Or my dick. But I do.
Hope bubbles in my chest.
Let her go, Hunt.
I shouldn’t want her to feel this wild connection between us. To crave me like I do her. Is it too much to ask that she fall for someone so out of her league? Someone thirteen years older than her?
I groan, dipping my head, inhaling her. She doesn’t back down, doesn’t shy away. No, one hand clasps my wrist and the other slides to my waist. Her skin is cool against mine.
My gut tightens. I’ve never wanted to feel anyone’s lips against mine the way I do hers.
“Alex—”
My name is a plea I feel all the way to my soul.
What is happening?
Her fingers flex against my skin, and I put the mug on the table next to me. This requires both hands. I don’t want to miss a thing. Don’t want her to think my attention is anywhere but on her.
I slide my free hand around her waist, pulling her closer. She leans into the circle of my arms like she’s been waiting to be there. And damn, do I love her close. Safe. No shadows of fear and anxiety in her eyes.
Just raw desire.
For me.
“Katie Bird. . . Tell me to stop,” I whisper.
Trailing my thumb over her cheek, I give her a chance to back away. To sever the connection. To be stronger than me. But everything in me hopes she doesn’t.
“No.” She gives a single, slow shake of her head.
My chest puffs up, and excitement seeps through my veins.
There’s no mistaking her acceptance. Or the flare of need in those eyes as her gaze drops to my lips. Her palms slide up my chest, leaving fire in their wake.
I dip my head, watching her lashes shutter and her chin lift. Her eagerness is a punch to the gut. I brush my lips against hers once. Twice.
How the hell does she keep her lips that soft?
We moan, and I smile. And then I’m a goner. Losing myself.
She returns kiss for kiss. Her breath fans against my cheek, and I tease the seam of her lips with my tongue. She makes an adorable whimpering sound and parts them for me, welcoming me inside the wet recess of her mouth.
Damn, she’s hot. Melting in my arms.
She skates those nimble fingers up over my shoulders and then grazes my scalp with her nails. My hips punch forward, and she laughs, the sound spearing me through the heart as true as Cupid’s arrow.
Her hips move against me, and her breasts press tight to my chest. My beautiful little wanton. She pulls back a fraction and snags my lower lip between hers. I growl, and she laughs again. Then she’s kissing me. Open-mouthed, tongue thrusting against my own. Hot. Wet. Needy.
It takes all my willpower to not press her against the window and slide my hands beneath the hem of her shirt. It’d be so easy to answer the question of what she has on underneath. So. Easy. Because this woman wants me. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she craves my touch just as much as I crave hers.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Groaning, I lift my head.
