Shiver

The Buchanan Brigade … I liked that.

“You’re absolutely stunning, but you don’t play up your looks. You don’t use much makeup. Don’t wear anything revealing, flattering, or eye-catching. The only time I’ve seen you dressed up was at the Clubhouse, but I’ll bet you only did it because you would have stood out if you hadn’t. You like to blend, but it doesn’t work so well, Kensey. Someone who looks like you will attract attention with every step they take. You’d have guys cueing up if you didn’t have that indefinable quality about you that makes you seem … unattainable. Elusive. Out of reach. It’s very intimidating for a guy.”

I didn’t comment, but he didn’t seem to be expecting me to anyway.

“Back to the points you made. As for numbers two and three, they’re very much linked. You don’t hop into bed with people you don’t know and you’re not at all interested in a one-night stand, which basically means you’d want a relationship—even if it were only casual. In sum, you don’t want something impersonal and informal. Am I right?”

I gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

“So, in a nutshell, the only way you’ll stop fighting me is if I offer you more than a one-night stand.”

“In a nutshell,” I agreed, kind of pissed that he’d broken my case down and made it seem so simple.

He twisted his mouth. “I don’t do relationships, Kensey—not even casual ones. I’m not commitment phobic. I’m not emotionally stunted. I’m not stuck in the sowing my oats phase. But I’m a legitimately busy guy. I told you that I couldn’t give you a relationship even if I wanted to; I meant it. Being in a relationship means taking time for someone. I don’t have a lot of me time, let alone a lot of time to give to another person. I’m not going to lie to you, I like things that way. I’m not lonely or unhappy. I’m content with my life the way it is.”

Fair enough, although it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that he worked so much because he liked to do so rather than because he had to. I could easily imagine him to be somewhat of a workaholic. In any case … “Well then, I’d say we’re doomed.”

“Not necessarily.”

I frowned. “You don’t do relationships—not even casual ones.”

“That’s right.”

“And I don’t want anything cold and informal.”

He nodded. “Very true.”

“So I fail to see how we’re not doomed.”

He shrugged. “We can always meet each other in the middle.”

“There’s a middle?”

“There’s always a middle when you’re determined to have something. And I have to have you.”

There was something heady about the note of finality in his tone, about knowing he wouldn’t back down. And as the air crackled and my body heated, I felt myself caving. Felt myself weakening. And I realized just how much I wanted to cave. My life was so fucked up right now, and he was so far removed from the Ricky Tate situation that it made him a breath of fresh air—stubborn, dangerous air, but still.

At that moment, I knew for a fact that there was only so long I could fight him—or, more accurately, fight myself. I also knew that I’d feel weak and pissed off with both of us when I eventually gave in after promising that I wouldn’t engage in any more one-nighters. If I wanted to keep my pride, there was only one way around it … even if it involved breaking that promise.

“You know what, we don’t need to bother negotiating this,” I said. “After all, there’s no logic in me bemoaning that you can’t give me a relationship when I don’t even want one right now.” I had too much else going on. “A quick jump would be fun, so let’s just fuck.”

My stomach flipped as he fluidly rose from the stool. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he stalked around the breakfast bar looking every inch the predator. He backed me against the counter and, curving a hand around my chin, pursed his lips. “You don’t like giving up control, do you?” His mouth quirked. “It’ll make things interesting.” He planted a hand on the counter either side of me. “Now, before you started to metaphorically run, we were discussing the whole ‘middle’ thing.”

I gaped. “I’m not running, I’m offering you exactly what you want.”

“Because you know you’ll give into me sooner or later, and you want to be in control of when it happens. You figured you’d just back down now, get your kicks, and never have to see me again.”

I ground my teeth. Since when was I so transparent? “And you’re going to turn me down because you’re not comfortable with me having the control,” I guessed.

His smile was almost sympathetic. “Ah, Kensey, you’ll never have the control with me.” He seemed to find it amusing that I’d think otherwise. “I’m not going to take you up on your offer for the simple reason that I want a lot more than a quick fuck.” He snaked his hand under my tank top and splayed it on my stomach; it quivered beneath his touch. “I’m going to fuck you long and hard. I’m going to take my time with you. Going to taste and bite and devour you before I come deep inside you. I can’t do that here and now. But … that doesn’t mean I can’t make you come for me.”

“Wait.” But he’d already trailed his fingers down my stomach and smoothly slipped his thumb into my shorts and panties. I gripped his arms as his thumb massaged the skin just above my clit and, shit, that felt so good I shivered. Sexual chemistry sparked the air like static electricity, making little bumps rise on my skin. He smoothed his warm hand down my arm, soothing the prickle.

His other hand slid into my panties and cupped me. “I’m going to have this pussy, Kensey. Make no mistake about it. I’ll have you.” He ground the heel of his hand against my clit and, helplessly, I rocked against his hand. “That’s a good girl.”

He kissed me, and it was like lobbing oil on an open flame. Need roared through me, fast and hot. I dug my nails into his skin, kissing him back. He used his thumb and finger to slowly spread my folds, and I bit back a gasp. He didn’t move. Made me wait until the anticipation had me bucking my hips in demand. He thrust his finger inside me, curving it just right, and I moaned softly.

My head fell back, but his hand fisted my hair and yanked my head up. “Feel good, Kensey? Imagine how much better it would feel if it was my cock inside you.”

Oh, Jesus, I wanted that. Wanted it much more than I should.

Thrusting his finger in and out of me, he tugged my lower lip with his teeth. “Are you going to keep running from me, Kensey?” He sank another finger inside me, eyes boring into mine, daring me to lie. And I knew I wouldn’t fight him. Not anymore.

“No,” I rasped.

“Why?”

“There’d be no point.”

“There’d be no point,” he agreed, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. His fingers picked up their pace, rubbing my g-spot with each thrust. All the while, he kissed and sucked at my neck—I felt the sensations all the way down to the clit he was rubbing with the heel of his hand.

He bit my earlobe and whispered, “I’m going to fuck the absolute hell out of you, Kensey. Not now, but soon.” My pussy clenched around his fingers, and he let out a low, deep growl in my ear. “Very, very soon.” And then he was kissing me again. No, kissing just wasn’t the right word for it. He feasted—hungry and demanding. Like he’d been starved for me.