Smolder (Wildwood 2)

He rushed her, grabbing hold of her arms and halting her progress. She glared at him, struggling against his hold, her nose scrunching up in anger and frustration. A look she seemed to wear only around him.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You’re not going to humiliate yourself in front of me.”

“I’d only be humiliated if you told me no.”

Lane said nothing, which earned him another glare and a hard kick in the shin. “Ow,” he muttered. She escaped his grasp, doing a triumphant little dance, and his palm itched to smack her ass. The woman needed some discipline. Not that he’d be the one to give it to her.

“Gonna have to catch me,” she called over her shoulder as she made a mad dash past him, heading down the hall toward his bedroom. He

wondered if she was drunk. Or worse, if she’d lost her mind.

He came to a halt in the middle of his hallway when he spotted her dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He stared at the fabric stupidly, like a blind man trying to see something for the first time. All he could do was blink.

Delilah had taken off her dress. Meaning, she was naked in his room. Waiting for him. Prepared to beg him to fuck her.

Chapter Seven

LANE TOOK A deep breath and opened the door, stopping short at the sight before him: Delilah in the center of his California king-size bed, on her knees wearing nothing but those pale blue panties, not even a bra. Her breasts were small, perfect handfuls with nipples the color of a ripe, juicy peach.

His mouth literally watered at the sight of them. He wanted a taste, damn it. Just one. Just to know if they would pebble on his tongue. If she’d like it when he sucked her deep. Or would she prefer if he just licked them?

It scared him that he wanted to know her preferences. He had no right thinking like this, wanting her, contemplating what he was about to do to her. He clenched his hands into fists again, fighting the urge to go to her and slowly losing the battle.

Why would he turn away such an opportunity, such a gift? How could he tell her no? Denying her would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. One of the stupidest too.

“I think you curl your fingers tight because you think that’ll prevent you from touching me.” The smile curving her lush mouth was inviting. Mischievous. She looked pleased with herself for reading his damn mind. Like she’d just pulled the ultimate trick on him. “You looked shocked, Deputy.”

Without a word he shut the door behind him, twisting the lock into place. Not that he was worried about anyone busting in on them . . .

But better to be safe than sorry.

He turned to face her, crossing his arms as he contemplated the situation. Her eyes glittered with excitement and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. All he knew was that he’d never seen her look more beautiful. Her body was just as he imagined, lean and slender, her hair tumbling past her shoulders wild and free. The longer he studied her, the more he noticed. Faint tan lines bisected her skin, making her breasts paler than her arms, her flat stomach and the slight indent of her navel. He’d seen that stomach time and again—the woman wore the skimpiest clothes imaginable when she was dancing, and he always snuck glances before looking away quickly. Guiltily. Hoping like hell she hadn’t caught him checking her out.

Most of the time, he figured she dressed skimpily just to drive him out of his mind. To set his imagination off on a wild-goose chase, trying to remember what she looked like so exposed. Trying to envision what she might look like completely naked.

So now, he took his time, and the longer he took, the more nervous she seemed to get. Her skin dotted with gooseflesh and her nipples grew harder. She straightened her spine, rested her hands on her hips, her fingers toying with the waistband of those sweet cotton panties she wore, and he was suddenly struck with an idea.

“You failed on your promise, you know,” he said, his voice low, tone almost ominous.

Her expression faltered just the slightest bit. A regular person would’ve never noticed but he was familiar with everything about Delilah. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you’d be naked and begging me to fuck you.” She flinched when he said the word fuck. He continued on. “And you’re not naked, Dee.”

She glanced down at her panties, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. He bit back a groan, both loving and hating how every little thing she did seemed to set fire to his blood. “I’m pretty exposed already, Lane.”

“Not good enough.”

Her head jerked up at his firm tone and he felt the teeniest bit of remorse for being so harsh. But then again, this was just the real him coming out. If she wouldn’t bend to his will, then they’d realize real quickly it wouldn’t work between them.

He had a feeling Delilah didn’t much bend to anyone. She was fiercely determined and threw herself into pretty much everything she did. Did that include sexually? He hadn’t a clue. But he doubted she’d let some bossy asshole tell her what to do in bed. Or in the shower. In his truck. Against the kitchen wall, the bedroom wall, the living room wall. On his couch . . .

Yeah. He was going to be a bossy asshole.

“Are you demanding that I take my panties off? Is that what you want?” she asked sweetly, but he heard the sass in her voice too. She was taunting him. Meaning she was playing with fire.

“Yes,” he bit out harshly, frowning when she climbed off his bed and sauntered over to where he stood, stopping just in front of him.