Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

He knows exactly what I want, and his fingers thrust inside me, and I ride him, grinding myself shamelessly against this man who I can't seem to get enough of.

I use my thighs to lift and lower myself, and he thrusts his fingers in time with my movements. "That's it, baby," he says. "That's so fucking hot."

I'm like a wild thing, wanting more--him. I've never in my life been this turned on, and it's been far too many years since I felt a man's cock inside me. I want it now. Hell, I need it as badly as I need oxygen.

Except.

The thought is simple and fast and unwelcome. A slight hesitation. A gentle push.

Now? Like this? After waiting so long?

I want to push the thoughts away. To scream yes, yes, this is what I want. Who I want.

But I know it's not right. It's not real.

I like Lyle, probably too much. But this isn't the promise I made myself. And at the end of the day, he's going to leave, and I'm going to have to live with my decisions.

I screwed up once and regretted it.

I'm not going to do that again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, putting the brakes on so hard and fast he'll probably have whiplash.

* * *

"I'm sorry," I repeat, as I climb off him, completely mortified.

He's watching me, and I can see the confusion. Thankfully, I don't see anger, and for some reason that makes me feel even more wretched.

"I should never have let this get so out of control," I say. A tear rolls down my cheek and I brush it away. "It's just that I want to--I do--but at the same time, I don't. I can't."

I squeeze my eyes shut to stifle a flood of tears. "Please don't hate me. I didn't mean to be a tease."

"Hush," he says, pulling me close as I press my face against his bare chest. He strokes my back gently, so sweetly, and when he whispers, "Do I look like I hate you?" I break out into fresh sobs, unable to hold it all in any longer.

He holds me until I'm able to breathe without choking, and then a little bit longer until I feel strong enough to let go and talk to him.

Finally, I pull away, then lift my head to look into his eyes, certain I'll see frustration there. But all I see is concern and strength. "You don't have to say anything, baby. You never need an explanation for saying no."

"Maybe not. But we met because you hired me to sleep with you, so it's only fair that you'd be a little surprised if I suddenly tell you to back off."

"That was business," he says. "This isn't. Do you think I don't understand the difference?"

I lick my lips, suddenly uncertain. "It's just that I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should."

"I'm glad. I like you, too. Probably more than I should."

I meet his eyes and manage a little half-smile. "If this was for money, I could justify it. Just business, right? But like this--because of desire and attraction and all that wonderful stuff ... well, honestly, I'm having a hard time remembering why I'm fighting it. All I know is that I don't want to be angry with myself in the morning. And if we do this, then I will."

Even with the sheet pulled up to cover me, I feel naked and exposed and very, very vulnerable. And when he reaches for me, I hold my breath, certain that he's g

oing to touch me, and all my resolve will fade away.

But he doesn't. Instead, he simply twists a lock of hair around his finger. "Can you tell me why you're fighting it?"

I lick my lips. "I've never actually told anyone," I admit.

He nods slowly, then releases my hair and takes my hand. "It's okay. Like I said, you don't ever have to give a reason--"