“Yeah?” Those whiskey-dark eyes drop down to my mouth. Holy hell, it feels like he’s kissing me again with just his eyes. How does he do that? “Bet you believe I could get all kinds of down and dirty, now.”
I groan softly, but it feels more like something luscious rolling over my tongue than the sheer exasperation I want it to be.
“Don’t you flirt with me, Holt Silverton,” I murmur.
“Why the hell not?”
“’cause if you do,” I say, “I’m gonna do something dumb like this.”
I’m moving before I realize it.
I feel drunk right now, but it’s not the beer.
It’s not even the dizzying summer heat that makes everything feel sluggish and hazy and slow and half-drugged.
It’s him, messing up my brain, messing up my body, messing up my everything until somehow, I’m the one closing the distance between us, leaning across that stupid table, and pressing my mouth to his.
It’s a kiss that shouldn’t happen.
A kiss I can’t resist.
And it’s a kiss I lean into with all my heart and soul while Holt groans raw pleasure, reaching to fist a hand into my hair and pull me in.
Oh, he’s got me hostage now.
Just enough for me to feel it with a little spark of pulling that makes the pleasure of his mouth that much better.
Maybe I’m the one who kissed him, but there’s no doubt who’s in control when he kisses like he’s got all the time in the world and he’s gonna taste every freaking inch of me.
Holt takes over my mouth, caressing with these long, domineering strokes of his lips, his tongue just a tease darting around for half a second.
Half a breath, taunting me and making me want more, more, sweet hell, more.
For a second, I think I’d let him have everything.
Because the way he teases nice and slow says he knows what he’s doing.
He knows how to wait.
He knows how to make it that much sweeter for every second delayed.
And when he finally slides his tongue against mine in a slow, deep thrust that slips past my lips to invade my mouth, I moan with a helpless little jerk of my hips.
My lips go slack against his. I feel that thrust deep down inside, the anticipation making it ring through me like he just hiked my hips up and wrapped my legs around his waist and slid his cock right into me.
Any man who can make a kiss rock my whole body like that, who can make me feel things he ain’t even done to me?
Yeah.
I’m screwed without even screwin’.
God, I think I’d melt for him like a popsicle.
He’s burning me more than the summer heat, leaving me struggling to breathe, my mouth wet and needy against his, my fingers rising to tangle up in his flannel shirt.
I pull him closer with a sharp jerk.
It’s pissing me off how calm he is, how much he makes me want him, how he does this to me.
In a hot rush, I bite him, sinking my teeth into that cruel, sensuous lower lip.
Only for him to growl back.
A thrilling, deep animal vibration that says he’s a man who ain’t ashamed of his pleasure in the slightest.
Oh. My. God.
I need to hear that sound again.
So I bite his lip a second time.
My thighs get tight. My stomach gets hot and my breasts almost ache with the heavy, full, sensitive want in them. I—
There’s a far off sound—one I recognize as buckshot.
Nothing to be worried about, probably.
Just Mendez on the neighboring ranch scaring rabbits out of his garden; he does it all the time.
But it shocks me back to my senses.
I fly backward, staring at Holt like he just gave me a lashing of current, my whole body trembling, every inch of me undone.
Of course he still looks like the fallen freaking angel he is.
Mouth red and wet, eyes molten.
Dangerous, sinful, masculine beauty that makes you want to just throw yourself at him and do anything he asks so he’ll make you feel that way again.
Like he can reach down inside and twist you all up until you forget who you are.
Because there’s nothing left under his flaming gaze but pleasure.
I can’t lose myself so easy.
I can’t forget who I am or what matters to me.
I swallow, thick and harsh, and dredge up some sane words.
“Holt. I think…” I whisper, “you should leave.”
“Yeah?” That heavy-lidded gaze drifts over me before he stands. He’s moving differently, like there’s some kind of slick, sensual energy powering his muscles. “If that’s what you want, honey. I’m gone.”
I expected him to fight, maybe push me up against the nearest wall and take what I’m afraid to give him.
This almost makes the roaring ache between my legs worse.
Before I can call after him, he’s already prowling away, a proud lion of a man.
I stand up and immediately tip over after I’m inside, sliding against the kitchen wall, burning the hell up, but shivering.