Fire and Ice (Ice 5) - Page 52

“You must practice that look in the mirror,” she said, going for caustic.

“What look?”

“That ‘I’m such a hot bad boy that you can’t resist me’ look,” she said.

He laughed at that. “I didn’t know it worked.”

“Why the hell are you so cheerful?” she demanded, incensed. “We’ve been imprisoned by murderous yakuza, we can’t find a way out and we’ll probably be dead by tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “At this point we don’t have anything to lose, and it’s going to be a long night.”

“For you, maybe. I intend to sleep.”

“The bed is very small.”

“You can take the floor.”

“I can take you.”

She froze. “The hell you can. I’m never having sex again in my entire life.”

“That’s not much of a vow if you’re only going to live one more day,” he pointed out.

“You said I was lousy in bed.”

“I said I prefer experienced women. So I’m offering you a chance to practice and distract me at the same time. Besides, I don’t have any other choice.”

“Use your hand,” she snarled.

She was in the wrong place, backed into a corner of the room on the tiny cot. When he moved toward her there was no place for her to go. She could dive onto the cement floor, but that wouldn’t slow him down, and he had a dangerous look in his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

“If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think so,” he said again. “You want me.”

She let out a hoot of laughter that sounded very convincing. She almost believed it he

rself. “Dream on.”

He was close now, very close, moving like a panther across the tiny space, and his mouth was dangerously near hers. She could feel her heart pounding, her palms were getting sweaty and she’d forgotten all about her headache.

“Say no, Ji-chan. Tell me you don’t want it.” She opened her mouth to say it, but he stopped her. “But only if you mean it. Tell me you don’t want me to put my hands on you.” He let his fingers trail down her neck, so soft, so sexual. “Tell me you don’t want me kissing you.” He brushed her mouth with his, barely a glancing touch. “Tell me you don’t want to come with me inside you.”

Any self-respecting female would tell him to fuck off. She’d tried that, but it hadn’t seemed to sink in. She could tell him no, right now, and he’d move back, away from her. Like a predator who thought better of the tasty snack he’d come across.

But she might die tomorrow. And if that was going to happen, she didn’t want to be alone tonight.

He was on his knees on the cot now, and his hands had slipped down to the front of her blouse, and he was slowly unbuttoning it, pushing it off her shoulders so that it puddled around her, and she only had the silk camisole to cover her. “Say no, Jilly,” he whispered in her ear. “Tell me to leave you alone. Tell me you don’t want me. Go ahead and lie.” His mouth was at her ear, and she could hear soft, seductive whisperings, and then he bit her earlobe, a tiny sting of pain and pleasure.

She gathered her self-respect for one last time. “I don’t want to spend the last night of my life having sex with someone who doesn’t care about me,” she said, waiting for him to retreat, waiting for a mocking comment, waiting for the end.

He sat back on his heels, looking at her, and for once his beautiful face was still and thoughtful. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

For a declaration of emotion it was piss-poor, but it was enough. She sat very still as he pulled the camisole over her head and tossed it on the floor, and then his hands started up her sides, slowly.

“Did I tell you that you have beautiful breasts?” he whispered as his hands closed over them. “Just perfect. Not too big, not too small. And they taste delicious.” He leaned forward and put his mouth on one, and she jumped as she felt a powerful current move through her body, ending between her legs. He moved his mouth to her other breast, sucking it, and she heard a quiet little moan that could only have come from her.

“I don’t know which one I like better,” he whispered, using his tongue to tease her nipple into a hard knot. “This one—” he moved to her other breast, using his teeth this time, just letting them scrape lightly over it “—or this one.”

Tags: Anne Stuart Ice Romance
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