Page 47

“No. But she said she always knows when you have a girl up here because the whole building shakes.”

He groans.

I raise my hands out to the side. “You have to admit, it’s enough to make any girl curious.”

“So that’s what you want? Rough sex? The Blake experience.”

His tone is pure danger.

And the laughter dies in my throat as excitement spikes in my belly.

“Yes…” My words come out a strained whisper.

Blake pulls my chin up with one finger until our eyes meet.

His are searching for an answer. Maybe my yes was too hesitant.

“Please.” I don’t know where that comes from, it just seems like the right thing to say.

Blake’s nostrils flare. He grabs my waist, and in one rough move, he turns me around, pushing my belly into the kitchen counter. His broad chest pushes against my back, caging me in place as a warm hand settles on my hip.

“This is what you want, Amelia?”

He drops his hand down my leg, caressing the outside of my thigh until he reaches the hem of my skirt and hooks his fingers underneath.

“Is it?” He whispers in my ear, his breath tickling the back of my neck.

A shiver runs down my back.

“Yes.”

His hand slips under my dress, touching skin for the first time.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about lifting this skirt up today.”

My belly clenches.

His other hand goes to my other leg underneath my dress. Together, both hands languidly move up, first stroking the outside of my thighs, then up to my hips.

“Everyone wanted to talk to me after the game, to congratulate me. But all I could do was stare at you. I couldn’t fucking think straight, much less hold a conversation.”

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my underwear.

I gasp.

He pushes it down, taking his time, and letting it drop.

My heart is pounding now. This is really happening.

“I’m only glad I didn’t get a good look at you before the game started or we’d have lost for sure.”

His palms are back on me, gliding back up, tracing the same path as before, but this time, I’m naked underneath. I’m vulnerable. I quiver with anticipation.

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asks.

“What?” My voice is barely higher than a whisper.

“Did you wear this dress to distract me? Did you wear it for me?”