Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

“But why do you have to wear this? Why do you have to look so . . . so—” He takes a step closer, hands clenched at his sides.

I lift my chin in defiance, challenging him to say what I know he wants to. “So what?”

“So fucking hot!” It’s more growl than words.

And not the words I expect. At all. I expected him to say slutty, or like a streetwalker, or a lady of the night. “I’m supposed to look hot. It’s how I make money right now. Is this another reason why you’re so angry? Because I’m too provocative?”

“Yes. No. You lied. This. You. You’re driving me insane. I want—” Bancroft’s breath leaves him on a hard pant.

I have no idea what’s going on. Two minutes ago he was pissed because I lied and now he’s mad because I’m hot. “You want what?” We’re almost nose-to-nose, me pushed up on my tiptoes, Bancroft leaning down so his shoulders are hunched.

His hands flex at his sides. “You. Fuck. I want.”

“Is that supposed to makes sense?” Sweet Christ is he saying what I think he is?

His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. “I want you.”

He admitted it. Out loud. Thank God. He doesn’t make a move to take me, though, so I push what I hope is his very last button. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“You can’t make anything easy, can you?” His hand shoots out, fingers sliding into my hair, twisting into the strands. His grip tightens as he tilts my head back and then his mouth is on mine.

It’s nothing like the time he accidentally kissed me at the engagement party. If that kiss was a fizzled-out candle, this one is an entire store of firecrackers going off at once.

Weeks of pent-up tension explode as his tongue pushes past my lips and he groans into my mouth. I latch on to his hair, because there’s no way we’re stopping this now that it’s started.

In the back of my head, reason tells me this is a seriously bad idea. I still live here. He’s angry at me for lying to him. I’m angry at myself for caring what everyone thinks, and for getting myself into this kind of situation. We need to have a discussion. One with words and some logic. But logic has gone out the window. Jumped the twenty-plus stories in a free fall.

Sweet button of lust in my panties, this man can do amazing things with his tongue. I bet his talents extend far beyond mouth skills, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out if this is true.

Bancroft slides his hand under my skirt. He doesn’t actually have to do much work to accomplish that since it’s so damn short. He grabs my glitter-panty-covered right ass cheek and pulls me against him. Like the last time I ended up with his tongue in my mouth, I can feel his ample hard-on against my stomach. I can’t wait to get my hands on it. Better yet, I can’t wait to ride it. Screw worrying about arguments and conversations. Forget worrying about having a place to live.

I have a free hand, so I mimic him and grab his ass like he is mine. His grip tightens, and he shifts his hips, seeking friction. I can totally relate to that need.

He breaks the kiss long enough to say, “I want you in my bed.”

I groan around his tongue, which is already in my mouth again.

“If you’d just stayed in my bed that first night I came home we could’ve done this a whole lot sooner.”

“I slept in there every night you were gone.”

He holds on to my hair and disengages from my mouth. “You what?”

Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting this. “I um . . . I slept in your bed.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

“What else did you do in my bed, besides sleeping?” His lips hover just above mine. I can’t get to them though, because he’s still gripping my hair. Not hard, just firmly.

“I played hide and seek with Franny,” I whisper, because it’s true.

“Anything else?”

“Like what?” I bite my lip.

His nose brushes my cheek, his lips at my ear. “Did you get off in my bed?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“Fuck.” He bites my earlobe and I gasp. His hand drifts down my side. “How?”

I suck in a breath when his fingers graze the edge of my panties and he follows the fabric to the inside of my thigh.

“I want you to tell me how,” he murmurs.

“How I got off?” I ask for clarification because I’m a little distracted by his fingers right now.

“Did you finger-fuck yourself while you thought about me?” His tongue sweeps along the side of my neck.

I make a groaning sound, it’s supposed to be yes, but I don’t think it comes out as a word.

He cups me through my panties. “Did you?”

I nod as much as I can since he’s still fisting my hair with his free hand.

“How often?”

“Every night,” I admit.

He slips his hand down the front of my panties. His fingers glide over my clit and then he slides a single finger inside. “Like this?”

I nod vigorously and grab onto his shoulders when my knees threaten to give out. “But harder and more.”

“More fingers?” His lips move across my cheek again and he backs up until his eyes are on mine.

This man is combustibly hot. “Yes.”

He adds another finger, pumping slowly. God his fingers are long, and thick. A lot longer and thicker than my own. His lips touch mine as he asks, “How’s this?”

“Faster, please, and harder.”

His smile is absolutely sinister. “Listen to those manners.” But he does what I ask, pumping harder and faster.

I cry out, grabbing onto his shirt to keep upright. “Bane.” The word comes out tortured.

“I can’t wait to hear what that sounds like when you’re coming all over my fingers.”

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my God, I want your cock.” So much for those manners.

Bane chuckles. “There’s that naughty mouth I love so much.”

He kisses me hard and keeps moving his fingers, picking up speed until I’m trembling as the orgasm rolls through me. And then his hands are gone and I find myself pinned to the wall by Bancroft’s hips. He starts grinding and, of course, I do the same.

Yanking his shirt over his head, I run my hands over his chest. It’s an amazing chest. So solid. So defined.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“So much.”

“Me, too.” He grabs the hem of my dress—if we can even really call it that. Mostly it’s scraps of material sewn together—and pulls it over my head. My bra and panties are white and glittery, as is pretty damn typical in burlesque.

Bancroft drops to his knees, face level with my crotch. He looks up and flicks the little jewel at my navel. “I fucking love this.” Then he skims lower to my hips and drags my glitter panties down my legs. “Fuckin’ yes.”

Apparently Bancroft approves of my grooming techniques. I’m still pulsing from the orgasm I just had.

He lifts his head enough to meet my gaze, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. “You know what I’m going to do now?”

The anticipation is exhilarating. I have a feeling I know, but I want to hear him say it so I can find out exactly how impolite he can be. Based on his behavior so far, I’m thinking he can be a dirty boy. I shake my head. I might also bite my lip and arch my back so my pretty parts are closer to his lips.