Rule's Seduction (The House of Rule 4)

He wanted her naked, and he didn’t think he was capable of taking the time to woo her away from her clothing a piece at a time. Fuck that. Driven by the primal need to see her silky skin, he jerked her shirt and bra over her head and tossed them aside. He made short work of her shoes and then her lower garments as well. He watched as her eyes opened, her pupils dilating.

He stared down at her nakedness, the necklace he’d given her the previous day glimmering against her skin as if he’d collared her. Another wave of possessiveness hit his bloodstream—he’d felt this way about her from the start. He damn sure didn’t understand it, but he’d never been good at sharing his things, and that must be where the emotion was based. She was his, therefore he wasn’t sharing—not a damn bit—ever. And the sight of his necklace wrapped around her neck like a collar of jewels only made the feeling more intense.

A man on a mission, he stood up and ripped the clothes from his body until he was as naked as she was. Her eyes stayed glued to his the entire time, her pupils huge, her nipples hardening in response, her thighs trembling, her pulse quivering so quickly that he could see it in her neck.

He came back down on top of her and kneed her legs apart. They fell open for him even as a gasp slipped from her throat. The sound drove him half bat-shit crazy. He steadied himself by studying her, the light he saw shining from her eyes telling him that she wanted this too—almost as much as he did. And that was a damn good thing, because now was not the time to test his patience.

He sucked in a steadying breath through his nostrils, but found himself incapable of keeping his damn mouth closed. “I remember the way your skin tastes and I want that again. I need to taste every bit of you. It’s all I can fucking think about—I can’t get it out of my head.”

Her eyes flared in response, propelling him into action, his patience severely tested. As he kneed her legs farther apart and anchored her arms at her sides, a blush rose up from her chest and spread to her neck and then to her cheeks. Her response only maddened him. His gaze slid down and landed on the manicured perfection of her feminine mound. A great wave of heat grabbed him by the throat as his balls tightened in automatic response. His shaft swelled and jumped; his hands tightened around her wrists, restraining her, preventing any possible movement.

“Max—” she whispered on a semi-startled breath of air and then stopped speaking.

His eyes lifted to hers and found them shutting, closing him out. He hated that—and he’d deal with it later—but for now, he needed to taste the perfection of her body. He needed that if he had any hope of functioning with even a modicum of sanity in his life.

Sliding down, he dropped his head between her legs and wrapped his arms underneath her knees. Her scent hit him immediately; it was feminine and spicy, musky and heady, drenched with the redolence of sex—and it was more than he could stand.

His hands delved into her honeyed sweetness, his fingers pressing her folds apart. He could see all of her—everything she had—and he was going to lose it. Finding her dainty little clit and pressing his finger against it, he dropped his head and licked her, sliding his tongue from the bottom, all the way up.

She jerked off the bed as her fingers sank into his hair and grabbed hold. The grasp she had on him was strong, as if she were begging him to stay, or about to try to force him away. “Max—no.”

Fuck. He snapped his head up as his eyes narrowed. “No?”

She worked her bottom lip between her teeth as she stalled, before finally answering, “I want you up here—please.”

He calmed a bit at her words when he realized she didn’t want him to stop. “No—I can’t. Not yet. I’ll come too soon.” With that, he dropped his head again and began tasting her the way he needed . . . the way he hoped like hell she needed, too.

Within seconds, a primal urge that he couldn’t fight against rose up in his bloodstream. He tried not to hold on so tightly, tried to care if he was bruising her, but it was impossible. With his head buried against her sweet center, his hands came on either side and gripped her thighs, holding her apart—wide open. The position was perfect—he owned her, he owned her pussy—and if she didn’t learn to conform to his wishes soon, then he’d have to keep her like this until she did.