Page 44

While we’re wrestling, the neckline of her dress lowers, the bodice dragging low from her twisting. One breast has already slipped free, and when she wriggles again, the other one comes out too.

Her nipples pull tight into hard peaks in the cool air, and the sight of them has my veins burning red fucking hot. I want them in my mouth. I want them bruised.

My cock is hard, pressed against her pelvis, impossible to hide and pointless to deny. She feels it. I know she does, because her eyes flash, her tongue darts between her lips, and her thighs press together around my hips like she’s trying to stop herself from being turned on.

“I caught you, little wild thing,” I taunt.

“Don’t ya have somewhere to be?” Her voice is breathless, and it hits like temptation. “Like with your fiancée?”

I’ll never admit that I’d rather be here, staring at her pretty face, cock hard because her nipples are out and she’s under me.

“I have five minutes to spare.” I lower my head. “Five minutes to show you why you shouldn’t be here.”

I pause with my mouth a breath from her breast and hold her stare as I spit onto the hard peak.

Her eyes flash.

I lick over it, slow enough to make it a punishment, warm enough to make it feel good. Her back arches, and I close my mouth over the nipple, sucking hard, grunting from the back of my throat when a dirty, desperate moan escapes her.

Her back comes off the mat, pushing herself deeper into my mouth, and the fight changes beneath my hands.

She still pulls at her wrists. Still twists under me like she can turn this into resistance if she makes it look vicious enough. But her hips are no longer trying to escape mine.

Her thighs have opened just enough to damn her, her body giving me the truth while her mouth stays stubbornly silent.

She grinds up against my thigh, a movement she should definitely deny. Then she does it again, and her breath shakes on the way out, and I know exactly how wet she is before my hand goes anywhere near her.

I lift my head and look at her.

Her nipple is wet from my mouth, flushed and tight, and her chest rises hard beneath my stare.

Fuck, she’s perfect like this.

She jerks against my grip.

“I fucking hate you,” she spits through clenched teeth.

I lower my mouth again and suck harder, letting my teeth drag just enough to turn the pleasure sharp.

Her knee lifts against my hip, and when I release one of her wrists to take her breast in my hand, she grabs at my shirt instead of pushing me away.

Her fingers claw at the buttons, impatient and shaking, and something dark in me stills long enough to appreciate the contradiction.

She wants to fight me.

And she also wants me naked.

The buttons give, one after another, and I shrug out of the fabric, leaving it somewhere on the mat beside us. Her gaze drops to my chest, taking in my tattoos.

I catch her chin and force her eyes back to mine.

“You should’ve run the other way.”

She swats my shoulder, but the blow has no weight behind it, not when her breathing stutters as I palm her breast again.

Then I slap it, and the sound fills the gym.

Her whole body jolts.