Page 182 of The Best Shot

“That’s what I thought.”

I rose and settled over his lap again.

His whole body went still beneath me, blindfolded and breathing hard, strong enough to end the game whenever he wanted and choosing instead to wait for what I gave him.

“You want to touch me?” I asked.

His answer came immediately, hoarse. “Yes.”

“Where?”

His mouth curved without humor. “You sure you want that list?”

Heat climbed my throat. “Let’s start here.”

I guided him into me and sank down slowly. The stretch pulled a breath from both of us. I stayed there, seated fully over him, and rolled my hips once.

“How’s that?” I whispered.

“More.”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“Keep teasing me, sugar.” His voice had gone low and rough. “When you finally turn me loose, I’m going to fuck every smart word out of your mouth.”

Heat rushed over my skin. Fuck, this man turned me on.

“Promise?” I murmured.

His chest rose beneath my palms.

“Let me touch you.”

“No.”

The couch creaked.

I kissed him before he could argue.

Frustration sharpened every movement of his mouth. His hands stayed where they belonged, but his restraint was no longer effortless.

I could feel it thinning beneath me.

I set the pace. Slow, because slow was worse for him, and I had learned that within the first ten minutes. Every time I sank down, the leather strained under his hands. Every time I lifted, he stopped breathing.

He pushed up half an inch as though he wanted to follow, then caught himself and held still. Sweat gathered at his temples, and the tendons stood out in his forearms.

“Darlin’,” he said. “Let me.”

“Not yet.”

I kept going until I could no longer be clever about it.

Until the rhythm stopped being a choice, my arms winding around his neck as I pulled him close, my breath somewhere I could not get it back from.

He knew.

His whole body strained toward me and stayed exactly where he had promised it would.