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“Fuck,” I say against her succulent mouth.
I swear to god, she purrs. Straight-up kitty-cat purrs. Rubbing against me, fingers tightening in my hair.
It’s electric. Amazing. Unstoppable. Why did I ever think she was frigid?
Stretching up, she nips my lower lip, and I growl.
Definitely. Not. Frigid.
She melts like warm butter. All my blood is still rushing to my cock, and I don’t know how much longer I can remain standing.
Sliding my hands lower, I cup her ass, and she moans. Another firm squeeze, and then I slide my left hand down and lift her leg. Her arms tighten around my neck, and her body sways against mine like a soft, rolling wave.
Needy. Delicious.
I need to sit down.
Another purr. “You should catch me more often,” she murmurs, lips brushing mine.
27
KATHERINE
Nothing has ever felt as good as being in Gabe Rothburn’s arms. This man is forbidden fruit, and I can’t wait to take a bite.
For the better part of a decade, I’ve heard his name whispered around the office and shouted around the dinner table. Enemy number one, as far as my grandfather was concerned.
But that has nothing to do with the wildfire scorching over my skin as he holds my hips against his. The elastic tension sizzling between us snaps and crackles, lighting me up inside. His touch is needy and just a little possessive, and his lips. . .
His lips. . .
I snag another kiss and roll my hips against the hard steel of his cock. Holy smokes. The way he tears his mouth from mine to throw his head back and groan is like a slow drip of the best drug right into my bloodstream. Then he drops his chin and pegs me with the world’s hottest electric blue stare.
I’m toast.
Butter me.
Drizzle me in honey.
Eat me up because I’m toast.
“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you, Princess?”
As if I could. But he stares down at me, surrounded by lush evergreens with nothing to gain and everything to lose. His question is a bald admission. One I honestly never expected to hear from my once nemesis.
I have power over him.
Emotional power. That totally does it for me because I’ve been trying to tell myself all day that what I’m feeling isn’t some deep connection. It’s simple lust. Gratitude, not affection.
Need coils hot beneath my belly button, and I want more. More touching. More kissing. More. . . everything with him.
I trail my nails through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shudders in my arms.
Something about sharing the same air makes the truth easier to confess. Makes the kernel of boldness in my chest expand and bloom. Do I want to ruin him?
“Only in the best way,” I say.
His lips curve up at the edges, and my heart stumbles. “Good. Now. . . up.”
