Page 41 of Maneater

His lips press against mine with an urgency that makes my knees weak. Rex’s hands slide from my waist to my lower back, pulling me closer until I feel the hard planes of his chest against me. I surrender to the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

When we finally break apart, my heart hammers against my ribs. Rex’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

“Bed,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Now.”

Before I can respond, he sweeps me up into his arms as if I weigh nothing. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Rex! I can walk,” I protest, though I’m already melting against his solid frame.

“I know,” he says, carrying me effortlessly across the room. “But I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.”

He crosses the short distance to the bed, then lays me gently on the mattress. Hovering above me, he balances his weight on his forearms as he stares down at me. The intensity in his eyes makes my stomach flip. I reach up and run my fingers along his jaw, his stubble rough beneath my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rex whispers, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I’ve never been called beautiful by anyone. The word settles in my chest, warming me inside. I pull him down to me, our lips meeting again in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. His tongue traces my lower lip, and I open to him eagerly, no hesitation over being with him this way.

Our hands become more urgent, our fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. Rex’s hands slip beneath my shirt, his calloused palms sliding against my skin. The sensation makes me arch into him, seeking more contact.

Suddenly, Rex pulls back. His chest heaves as he stares down at me, his expression a mixture of desire and something else—Concern?

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “But I need to know you’re sure about this. We don’t have to rush anything.”

I reach up to touch his face, my thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. “You can’t believe how sure I am. I meant it earlier when I said I want everything.” I tense for a moment. “But for tonight, maybe not everything, everything?”

His eyes search mine, and whatever he finds there seems to satisfy him. He lowers himself again, but this time his movements are slower, more deliberate. His hands still work at removing my shirt, but with a gentleness that contrasts with our earlier urgency.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “We don’t have to go all the way until you’re ready.”

I relax again, but still wish I wasn’t so shy. “You’ll tell me if I do anything wrong, right? I want it to be good for you, too.”

He nips at my chin, scratching his teeth over my skin, then pauses, gazing down at me again. “Simply being with you is amazing. Don’t worry about anything else tonight, just feel.”

His words wash over me like warm honey, easing the remaining tension from my muscles. I nod, finding it suddenly difficult to form words as Rex trails his fingers along my collarbone, sending shivers racing across my skin.

“Trust me?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

“Completely,” I manage, surprised at how deep the truth of those words are.

Rex smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, before leaning down to press his lips to the hollow of my throat. I gasp as he works his way down, each kiss more deliberate than the last. He slides his hands beneath my shirt, pushing the fabric up until I raise my arms to help him remove it completely.

The cool air against my heated skin makes me shiver, but then Rex’s warmth replaces it as he lowers himself over me again. The sensation of his bare chest against mine—skin to skin—makes my breath catch.

He’s so much larger than me, his body a furnace of muscle and warmth pressing me into the mattress. I can feel the rapid thud of his heart against my chest, matching the frantic pace of my own.

His weight is perfect—secure but not crushing. His skin is surprisingly smooth against mine, his chest hair tickling where we touch. I run my hands up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath my palms.

When he shifts his weight onto one arm, I immediately miss the full contact. But then his free hand begins a slow exploration, trailing down my side, sending electric shocks to my nerve endings. His fingers trace the edge of my jeans, dipping just beneath the waistband.

“I ache to touch you,” he whispers against my ear.

My breath hitches, my body responding to his words with an intensity that surprises me. I’ve never felt this way before—this desperate need to be touched, to be held, to be wanted.

“Then touch me,” I whisper back, surprised by my own boldness.

Rex’s hand slides lower, his fingers tracing the outline of my erection through the denim. The pressure is maddening—not enough, but somehow perfect in its restraint. I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.