Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

Katie crossed the room in an instant, and he knew what was coming. Her pity would be polite, full of empathy. Knowing it was coming only made him hate himself more for being weak enough to let her see him this way.

But all she said was “I’m hungry.” She leaned way down, picked his palms up off the floor, and tugged, trying to pull him to his feet. “Why don’t you feed me, and after that you can show me this work of genius you’ve constructed.”

Sean was in no condition to be coaxed. He couldn’t seem to lock down the churning, helpless guilt in his gut and he needed to. He had to do something to prevent the unraveling that loomed just over the horizon, because it was impossible to explain how he felt, eve

n to himself.

Like he was coming apart.

Mike had been right. He should have stayed away. He should have asked somebody else to do this.

Sean yanked hard on Katie’s hands, pulling her to her knees between his legs, and kissed her.

Chapter Twenty-six

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was almost a punishment, almost hateful, the way he held her head and poured his frustration into her.

Maybe he did hate her. It seemed unfair that he should want her so damn much. Unfair that she still did to him what she’d always done, as if he’d never left. Never changed.

He rose to his knees, still kissing her, irritated with the way she molded her breasts to his chest and clung tightly to his shoulders. She shouldn’t want him. It didn’t make any sense. “You d-d-don’t kn-n-now who I am,” he said, putting one thigh between her legs and hauling her as close as he could get her.

“I know enough.” Her gaze was direct and certain as her hands found a new grip on his biceps.

“I’m a mess, and I c-c-can’t ffucking t-t-talk.”

“I like messy. I don’t care how you sound. I think you’re hot.”

“I’ll hurt yuh-you.”

She gave him a cynical smile. “You’re big, but I survived okay last time.”

“That’s n-n-n-not wuh-what I m-m-m—”

“I know. It was a joke. You’re not in much of a joking mood, are you?”

“Fuh-fuh-fuck n-n-n—”

“Right.” She pulled his forehead down to hers. “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m not a baby. We’re adults. Now quit trying to be noble and take off your pants.”

He gave up trying to make sense of it. His hands found their way to the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, and then he had her hot skin under his palms, and he kissed her again. His hands cupped the sweet flesh of her ass, his fingers dipping down between her thighs to find her already damp and hot.

He wanted her wet and needy, wanted to use her and tease her until she felt the same broken yearning that she kept unlocking in him. It fucking hurt to keep answering her questions, to keep opening his mouth and spilling ugly secrets he didn’t want to share.

It made him want to punish her, but she refused to be punished. She just wrapped her arms around him and let him do what he wanted. She hitched up his shirt so her silky skin rubbed against his stomach. She moaned against his lips, and what kind of punishment was that?

Slowly, she pulled him back to reason. She counted his ribs with her fingertips, sighed in his ear, tipped back her chin to expose her throat. His anger dissipated in passion, his displeasure turning to curiosity, the assault a seduction.

No matter what he did to her, she liked it. Her nails bit into his back, his fingers explored her slick folds, and she gasped her satisfaction against his lips.

“Sean,” she said.

“Get this off. I need to see you.” With his free hand, he pushed the straps of her bra off her shoulders, and she unhooked it and shrugged it off, dropping white lace to the floor.

He eased back, his hand still beneath the scrap of red fabric at the juncture of her thighs, teasing and caressing. Katie had her head tipped against the doorjamb. Jet hair brushed her shoulders. The room was dim, the weak bulb in the overhead light no match for small windows and the gloomy winter twilight outside, and it threw shadows over her body, drawing his eyes to the dip of her waist, the dark peaks of her nipples begging for attention.

Katie’s body. Not model-perfect, but his kind of perfect. Real.

With his fingers at her hips, he urged her to her feet, made her stand against the wall so he could bury his nose in the crease of hip and thigh and breathe her in.