These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

“Yes.” I nod, raising my eyebrows. “I hate to tell you this but your walls are bare. Especially the ones in your office. I noticed it the first day I was there.”

His eyes narrow at the mention of that first day. The day he took my privileges away. “You mean, the day you took a walk through my office like it was your personal amusement park.”

Right.

I try to look contrite as I say, “Yes. Which I’m still really sorry for, by the way.”

But I think I fail because my apology is what gets him moving. My apology gets him to unfold his arms, lean away from the door and take a step toward me.

And just to rile him up, I take a step back.

He watches my bare, pink-nailed toes, my ankles adorned with silver anklets before glancing up at me. “Are you?”

“Yes,” I reply right away, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my excited smile at bay. “But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.”

He takes another step toward me. “And what is the point you’re trying to make here?”

“The point I’m trying to make is that I wanted to paint your walls that day,” I tell him, moving back. “I wanted to give you something pretty and colorful to look at while you sit in your boring chair and do all the boring coach-ly things.”

His lips twitch at ‘coach-ly things’ as he runs his eyes up and down my body, looking at my pink toenails, my red dress, my golden arm chain with red beads, my necklace made of red stones. “Something pretty and colorful, huh.”

I blush. “Yes. Like flowers.”

That gives him pause.

His smooth, predatory steps falter as well.

“Flowers,” he says, looking slightly offended.

I come to a stop because I’m at the wall now as I reply, “Yes. Flowers.”

He stares at me a beat. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

“And why is that?” I ask, raising my chin. “Are you too much of a man to like a flower, Conrad Thorne?”

At this something astonishing happens.

Something that takes my breath away for a second or two and makes me forget what we were talking about.

He chuckles.

Chuckles.

Like really.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him or seen him do that before. Because I would’ve remembered. I would’ve remembered how deep it is. How low and rough, just like his voice. How it makes his Greek god face glow.

And it makes me think that I’ve been aiming too low.

I’ve wanted to make him smile and I always felt victorious when he did.

But I should’ve aimed for this.

I should’ve aimed for his chuckles. Amazing and beautiful and sexy chuckles.

I’m so entranced by this wonderful turn of events that it doesn’t even register when he resumes walking and makes it all the way over to me. Not until he puts one hand on the wall up above my head and leans over. Not until he says, all thickly and with amusement at the same time, “No, Bronwyn Littleton, I’m not too much of a man to like a flower. In fact, there’s this one flower I really like.”

I go to say something at that but only a gasp comes out because he touches me.

With his other hand, he touches me down there.

And if it were over my dress, I would probably be okay.

But it’s not.

Somehow he’s managed to get his other hand under my dress, and on my pussy. Somehow he’s managed to hook his fingers around the crotch of my panties and pull them. Up against my channel, up against that little bundle of nerves.

“This pretty little rose,” he rasps, his eyes almost burning me alive. “Right here.”

I clench my thighs and arch my back so he can use my panties to rub me harder. I even go so far as to rock against his movements as I say breathily, grabbing his bicep, “I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Paint your bare walls. With f-flowers.”

At this he fists my panties and pulls them harder, making me jerk. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He moves his hand from the wall and puts that one on my body as well, on the back of my neck to pull me up and closer. “And do you know what I’m going to do?”

“Fuck me?”

His jaw tightens slightly at my shameless reply. “Yeah. Because you need that. You also need me to remind you of a very important thing, don’t you?”

“What thing?”

Another hard tug with his knuckles rubbing against my clit. “That you’re not allowed to move away from me. You’re not allowed to move away from Conrad.” A shiver runs down my spine when he says that and I’m on the verge of closing my eyes but he squeezes my neck and continues, “But first I’m going to take care of this dress.”

I’m up on my tiptoes now, all stretched up and teetering on the edge of an orgasm and all he’s done is play with my clit. “You mean r-rip it off my body and throw it in the trash?”