Page 72 of Elite Metal: Warriors

She ran a finger around the band of the sweatpants. He watched, tracking each and every move. When she hooked her thumbs in the elastic, he sucked in a deep breath.

Slowly, so slowly, she slipped them down.

He released his breath in a long, rippling sigh.

“God.” A prayer. “God.” A curse.

She allowed him to look for a while, to soak her in, to take his fill, before she said, “What now?”

His gaze snapped to hers, ripped through her. His need, his hunger was a palpable thing. “Now me.” He held out his arms and she stepped closer.

In another world, in another universe, he would be a dangerous creature, a lion on the prowl, and she a gazelle. Or a knight of old, claiming his maiden. Or a pirate preparing to ravage a captive. Each and every fantasy spoke to her on a level so deep she could barely interpret it.

All she knew was she wanted to be his. She wanted to succumb.

She wanted him to take her. Wildly. Forcefully.

So, as she undressed him, as he so starkly commanded, she teased him.

It wasn’t difficult. A casual brush against a nipple as she unbuttoned his shirt. The swipe of her groin against his as she raised to her toes to pull it off. And then, oh my, it was difficult undoing his belt. Who knew a simple catch could be so confabulating? It took her quite some time.

It only made sense to drop to her knees so she could see it better. And then, when she unzipped his fatigues, she was there. Right there.

She leaned in and set her nose to the cotton of his briefs and drew in a deep breath.

God. He smelled magnificent. Like man and musk and…George.

At the thought, a trickle of annoyance rose up. Annoyance that he hadn’t given her his name. His real name.

So she huffed out a slow breath, bathing him with her damp—

“Stop that.” He lurched away and glared at her, though his glare held a tinge of panic.

“Stop what?”

It wasn’t lost on her that she knelt on her knees before him, this huge, tremendous warrior. That he was half-naked, nearly naked. And she was utterly so.

“Stop teasing me.”

She fluttered her lashes. “Was I teasing you?”

“You know you were.”

“I was undressing you, as you…commanded.”

He flinched at the word. His expression became fierce. Tormented. “Come here,” he barked. But he didn’t wait for her to comply. He grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet and towed her to the table.

He stalled then, glancing from the table to the chair, as though not sure what he wanted to do next. She was sure he knew what he wanted to do—at least she hoped she was right—but he couldn’t decide how he would do it.

A shudder of anticipation walked through her.

After a moment, he sat on the chair with a plop and pointed to his lap.

It seemed prudent to pretend ignorance. “What do you want me to do, George?”

He made that noise again—that one deep in his throat, something bestial and feral—and pointed to his lap again.

He seemed to be near the end of his tether, so she took the hint and draped herself over his thighs. She was annoyed that he was still wearing his fatigue pants, but they were unzipped. She could see the outline of his erection through the cotton of his briefs, see the pulse thrumming in it. She nudged her hip against it as she settled and—