Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

Surely to God, if I could be brave and let myself go, stop hiding behind hostility and just let him have me, he could return the favor.

I reached for the hem of my sweater and pulled it up over my head. I threw it away and reached for the clasp on my plain white bra. I shimmied it off and dropped it at his feet.

I liked to think my breasts still looked good and right now they were swollen with desire, my nipples tight peaks.

I sat back on my hands, the natural arch of my back thrusting my breasts out.

Vaughn’s hands curled into fists at his sides as his gaze devoured me.

The dampness between my legs grew wetter.

The thick silence in the room was broken by the creak of leather as he shrugged out of his jacket. He tore it off, his sweater quick to follow.

I was soaked as I took in the sight of him and thought of all that masculine beauty becoming mine.

Unlike Tom, Vaughn took care of himself. Tom’s average physique had never bothered me. I was still attracted to him.

But I wasn’t complaining about the chi

seled six-pack in my face.

My eyes dropped to where Vaughn’s trousers hung low on his narrow hips, the cut V of his obliques turning me on past the point of hot to volcanic.

“You can’t do it.” His words were thick with need. There was also anger in them.

“What?” I managed.

“Give up control.” He unbuckled his belt, his heated, furious gaze never leaving me. “Even now, you’re trying to control this, to control me. When I fantasized about fucking you into submission, princess, it involved me taking your clothes off. Not you taking your clothes off to seduce me into staying.” He pushed his pants down, toeing his shoes off at the same time.

He stood before me in his black Calvin Kleins, more model than mogul, and if it wasn’t for the erection straining toward his hard stomach, I might have felt a flash of insecurity to be with a man so beautiful.

“You’re right,” I whispered. Every inch of me was a live wire, tense, too hot, sensitive. I never knew it was possible to be so sexually alive, and yet so nervous. Because he was right. I said I wanted him to take control, but I was still controlling this moment.

I tried to relax, lowering my back to the bed. I stared at him from under my eyelashes as I lay prone and willing for him. It was one thing to want this in my fantasies, to be turned on by the idea of being a woman who had control over her life but handed it over to a man in the bedroom; it was a different thing altogether to make it a reality.

It was all about trust.

And if I wanted to unearth the secrets Vaughn Tremaine held close, I had to give him my trust.

It wasn’t easy to do considering we’d spent ninety-nine percent of our acquaintance being antagonistic toward one another. It maybe even didn’t make sense to give him my trust.

But I was tired of playing it safe.

His hooded eyes drifted down my body at my sudden pliancy. His dick swelled even more, stretching his CKs to the bursting point. My toes curled inside my flats.

“That’s more like it.” He stepped toward the bed.

He placed his hands on my knees, his thumbs on the inside of my legs, and he slowly coasted them upward.

My breath left me.

And then he reached the apex of my thighs but he kept going, his thumbs meeting in the middle over the seam of my jeans. I gasped as he pressed his thumbs down and rubbed the seam against my clit. My hand reached for his, wanting to take control. Vaughn brushed it aside with a, “Stop it or I’ll stop.”

That, even more than his touch, caused a rush of wetness between my legs, and my hips arched off the bed.

His eyes flew to mine. Understanding, surprise, desire, and satisfaction moved through his expression one after the other. Vaughn’s lips parted as we stared at one another like two people who were starving.

I’d never felt a rush like it.