Hard Compromise (Compromise Me 2)

That’s all the information he needed. He spun her around, gaining ridiculous satisfaction from her startled, “Oh!” It took less than a second to rip the zipper down, and drag the weightless fabric out of his way. The shorts pooled around the ankles of the metallic cock-teasers some designer had the balls to call shoes.

Lace as delicate as a butterfly’s wing stretched across the span of her hips, framing the graceful curves along the top of her ass, and delving into the valley between flawless, unprotected cheeks. Hard to believe she hadn’t planned that view for someone. Out of line as they were, the territorial thoughts returned in full force.

While he watched, goose bumps rose on her skin. To torture them both, he pressed a kiss to the small of her back, then to the divot on one side of her spine, and then the twin on the other side. She sighed. Fidgeted.

“Who’d you wear these skimpy panties for?”

“Me,” she shot back. “They’re pretty. I like the way they fit.”

“You like having a thin strip of lace wedged all up in here?” He plucked the

strip in question and let it snap back into place.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t you think it looks good?”

She looked fucking amazing, and he had a primitive urge to make sure nobody else enjoyed the sight. Ever. He leaned in and scraped his teeth over bare skin until he snagged the line of lace just above where it disappeared from view. A jerk of his head rent the fabric. He opened his jaw and let the ruined lingerie drop to the floor.

“Oh my God.” The wall muffled her voice, but nothing could disguise the way her legs trembled. “Did you just tear my underwear off with your teeth?”

“I owe you a new pair. Now answer my question, or three guesses where my teeth go next.” He menaced the plushest part her ass cheek with his incisors.

“Get over yourself, Booker. I wore them for me.”

He couldn’t get over himself. He wanted to hear her say his name, even if it wasn’t true. His frustrated growl gave her fair warning, but all she managed was an edgy cry when he sank his teeth into one ripe, peach-like curve. He snuck his fingers between her thighs, and curled them, barely brushing hot, damp, unbelievably soft flesh before she bucked away.

“Don’t,” he warned, and gripped a cheek in each hand. “Put your forehead to the wall, close your eyes, say a prayer—whatever you need to do—but don’t you dare hold anything back from me. That’s one of those ground rules you didn’t need to review. Now let’s try this again. Who’d you wear the panties for?”

“For me,” she insisted, stubborn as ever.

“Wrong answer.” He bit the other cheek, and worked two fingers between her legs again. She stiffened, then let out another groan, and opened for him, as far as the shorts around her ankles permitted. He took advantage, stroking, parting, easing his thumb into her tight, hot center and sweeping the inner wall while he rubbed her clit with his knuckle. Firm muscles bunched and released under his lips. Her breath came in ragged bursts.

“Who’d you think of while you slid those panties on and guided them along here?” He flicked his tongue over the path.

She wiggled, but the wall prevented her from getting far. “Nobody—”

His delving tongue dissolved her reply into an inarticulate plea.

Some misplaced sense of propriety, or the intensity of the sensations, forced her onto her toes. He simply tightened the trap, and kept at her—using his tongue, teeth, and fingers to exploit every unprotected part of her. One of her hands slapped the plaster, the other reached back and tangled in his hair.

“It hurts. I have to come so bad it hurts.”

The pain definitely cut both ways, but he drew it out a little longer. “Who’d you imagine getting you out of your panties tonight?”

“I didn’t…I can’t think.” Her fingers tightened in his hair. Pulling. Demanding. “I need.”

Growling his frustration, he scraped his jaw across her satiny ass. “Tell me” He circled his thumb as he pushed in deeper, searching out the hidden place that couldn’t withstand direct contact.

Her whole body stiffened when he hit it. She froze there for a suspended heartbeat, and then pounded the wall with her fist as the first spasm shook her. The next unlocked her voice, and words came forth with the same rushing honesty as her orgasm. “You, Booker. You. God help me, I thought of you.”

Chapter Three

Textured plaster pressed into Laurie’s forehead, but all she could do was cling to the wall and gasp lungful after lungful of air while shockwaves raced through her system. What the hell had just happened to her?

Ethan Booker just happened to you. He branded your ass, and then handed you the most cataclysmic orgasm of your life. Oh, and then he made you admit you’d envisioned him doing it.

The frightening thing was she hadn’t even realized the truth until the words were out, echoing in her ears. How had he known that while she’d dressed for this evening, deep in some forbidden part of her mind, she’d banked on those words he’d spoken ten years ago? She’d secretly fantasized about him being the one to strip off her carefully planned party clothes and show her a Happy New Year.

He’s going do it again, if you don’t watch yourself.