Page 314 of A Vicious Love

“I’m giving you a minute.”

“I don’t want a minute.”

I paused.

Her face colored, but she held my stare. Brave little thing, even with her body still shaking from my mouth. “You said I could have what I wanted.”

“I did.”

“I want you.”

My jaw tightened.

Every instinct in me lunged toward that sentence. I had to physically hold my body still, one hand braced beside her hip, the other gripping the sheet hard enough to strain the fabric.

“Baby, it’s late.” My voice sounded rough enough to warn a smarter woman. “I’m taking my time with you. You came hard, you’re overwhelmed, and you really should⁠—”

“Fuck me, please.”

The room went quiet.

Sienna seemed to shock herself with the words. Her eyes widened, and the blush rushed down her throat and across her chest, but she didn’t take them back. She lay beneath me, deadly serious, asking for me with every soft part of her courage.

I forgot every language I knew for three seconds.

Then I bent over her, caught her jaw, and kissed her hard enough that she clutched at my shoulders.

“Careful,” I said against her mouth. “Begging works on me.”

Sienna was learning fast, and I was beginning to suspect my fiancée had been sweet only because no one had ever given her safe room to be wicked.

“You’ll get me,” I told her. “But you’re going to get ready first.”

“I thought I was ready.”

“You’re wet. That isn’t the same as ready for me.”

Her gaze dropped, and the memory of her face when she saw me came back with enough force to make my ego stretch like a satisfied animal.

She swallowed. “I still don’t think it’s possible.”

“It is.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I’m right.”

“Very humble.”

“No one asked me for humility in bed.”

That earned the smallest laugh, and I kissed it softly, then drew back.

I stood beside the bed and undressed properly because if Sienna wanted to see me, she would see me without half measures. The wet shirt came first, peeled off my shoulders and dropped onto the floor. Her eyes followed the movement over my chest, my stomach, the tattoos she had only touched through fabric. Her breathing changed again.

Good.

The holster had already been abandoned near the bath. I stepped out of the rest of my clothes slowly enough for her to watch, because watching had become its own kind of touch between us. Her gaze moved over me with shy hunger, then flicked back to my face whenever she thought she had stared too long.