Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle)

I wanted to give it to him. I wanted him to strip me bare and take everything—at least part of me did. The careful Georgia who had a plan, a schedule, and a set of rules—she was buried. I didn’t want any part of her tonight.

I threw my shoulders back and lifted my chin. A muscle in his jaw tensed and flexed with each clench of his teeth. That powerful jawline that was all angles and mystery.

And that little bit of something else.

That something else flooded my body and added a tiny bit of fear. It tightened my nipples and my clit pounded in reaction. I was so wet. Wetter than I’d ever been before. Even by my own hand in the dark nights with this man in my head.

This was more than a safe fantasy under the covers.

He peeled my halter top down until there was nothing between us except the night sounds, the kiss of humid air, and his eyes. With wide hands and elegant fingers, he slowly smoothed his thumbs over my ribs, under the heavy curve of my breasts until he lifted them, cupped them, gripped them.

He wasn’t gentle.

I didn’t want gentle. I’d had gentle and tentative all my life. He kept his gaze locked on mine as he lowered his mouth and covered my nipple. He sucked it into his mouth with force and ruthless aggression. Every single tingle of anticipation was no match for the reality of Maximus Chapel.

Elegance.

The perfect cut of his suit.

His modulated voice with just the hint of boarding school.

All of that should have come with a ruthless boardroom type who probably had controlled sex with beautiful women who were more plastic and ice than the real flesh and bone of a woman like me.

I was so wrong.

I closed my eyes as his suction edged into pain. But just before it did, he released me with a pop. My eyes flashed open. Those dark, intense eyes were on my breasts now. I couldn’t help but look down at the flush of blood that had turned my nipples dark red.

They throbbed with my heartbeat.

He took the other one with the same focus until I was nothing but that pinpoint of flesh. My nipple that he couldn’t stop tasting. The draw of his mouth echoed in the restless drumbeat of my clit, in the walls of my sex clenching for something that wasn’t there.

I needed him there.

“Is this still what you need?” His eyes were shuttered. The greed leaking from behind the black glass of his eyes. Here they weren’t a rich brown that I could drown in.

Here they were simply black as night.

He coasted his palms over the sensitized tips and gripped them, pushing them together so he could go from nipple to nipple with biting suction.

My breathing was beyond labored.

I felt like I’d run a 5K in two minutes.

Impossible.

Broken.

As if I was flying.

He’d barely touched me.

Was this the adrenaline talking? Or the man?

The chemistry of both that would leave me strung out like an addict?

Because surely this was more than any one person could survive.

I touched his face with a shaking hand. My thumb glided over his cheekbone and the hollow beneath it as he drew from me. “Max.”