Smolder (Wildwood 2)

Delilah tossed her hair over her shoulder and thrust her chest out, her breasts on proud display. His mouth watered. His hands itched to touch them. His lips tingled, eager to suck on her nipples. “Take them off yourself.”

They were playing a game. It felt like a power struggle. She pushed, and he pushed back. He shoved, she shoved back even harder.

Well. He’d show her.

Sending her a look, he lowered himself to his knees, something he would never, ever do for another woman. But Delilah was an exception. And at this moment, he was desperate to push her past her comfort zone. Deep down inside, he wanted to scare her. He wanted her to bolt, to run and never look back. He wanted to show her exactly who he was . . .

And he fully expected her to never want to see this side of him again.

She tilted her head down, watching him as her teeth nibbled on her lower lip again. He liked that look. A little unsure, a lot sexy. Reaching out, he curled his fingers around the sides of her panties, his fingers brushing her skin. She was warm. And trembling. Was it fear? Or did she want him?

He wasn’t quite sure.

Lane glanced up, their gazes meeting. Holding. Her chest rose and fell, faster and faster the longer they stared at each other, and he was tempted to say something to put her at ease. But this moment wasn’t about ease or comfort. He wanted to push her boundaries.

Slowly he tugged on her panties, exposing her hip bones. The lower plane of her belly, that gentle curve just below her belly button, such a vulnerable spot that few got to see. Christ, he could smell her arousal. He had a feeling if he slipped his fingers between her legs he’d find her wet. Hot.

All for him.

The realization blew his mind.

But he didn’t touch her. Nope, he was torturing himself as much as he figured he was torturing her. Tearing his gaze from hers, he pulled her panties down the rest of the way, exposing her completely, until the blue scrap of fabric was wound around her knees and he was face-to-pussy. A place he never thought he’d be with Delilah, not really. Oh, he’d dreamed about it. Jerked off to thoughts of being in this exact spot, over and over again. But never had he believed he’d really be here. On his fucking knees in front of her, breathing across her most sensitive skin, seeing her thighs tremble, her scent winding around him, making him dizzy.

Making him want to taste.

Devour.

IF LANE DIDN’T make a move, didn’t goddamn do something and soon, Delilah was going to lose it. She was tempted to thread her fingers into his hair and pull. Just to make him yelp, react, touch her, lick her, push his face into her, whatever he had planned. He just needed to do it and get it over with.

Lane slid his hands along the outside of her thighs, his calloused fingers deliciously rough on her skin. She pressed her knees inward, her panties falling to the floor, and she carefully kicked them off, standing before him completely naked.

Completely on display.

“Looks like you’re the one on your knees,” she tried to joke but her voice was shaky and high, her nerves loud and clear. He let his hands fall from her legs and drew himself to his feet, standing above her, so tall, and still fully dressed, making her feel vulnerable.

“I think it’s your turn,” he said, his voice like steel—hard and solid and completely unfo

rgiving. “Can you do it, Dee? Or are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. And she wasn’t. He’d never instilled any sort of fear in her, ever. He was inherently kind, even when he tried to act like a tough guy. Even though he was a man of the law. He dealt with liars all the time and shouldn’t trust a soul.

But they’d known each other a long time, and she hoped he trusted her. She certainly trusted him. Why else would she put herself into this position? Kneeling before him, her gaze dropped to the front of his shorts, the unmistakable outline of his erection. Her mouth went dry. He looked . . . large. Not that she should be surprised, considering she saw him in just his underwear earlier.

“Then let me hear you beg.” He smirked, looking rather pleased with himself, and she wanted to smack him. The way he acted, she was pretty sure he believed she’d chicken out. Well, she’d show him.

“And use the right words,” he added, that smirk still firmly in place. “You know what they are.”

Oh yes, she did. Maybe she should be ashamed for being on her knees, naked in front of Lane Gallagher, a man she’d known for what felt like forever. But she didn’t feel ashamed, not at all. She was excited. Arousal buzzed in her veins, making her eager.

She straightened her spine and scooted closer, wanting to grab hold of him but restraining herself. Resting her hands on top of her thighs, she cast him a demure look, hoping she looked both innocent and sexy. She was giving him all she had right at this very moment, and if he responded negatively . . .

Delilah had no idea what she would do.

“I’m only going to ask this once.” She blinked up at him, her lips parted, her tongue darting out for a quick lick. “Fuck me, Lane.” His eyes followed her tongue’s every move and she fought the wave of triumph that wanted to sweep over her. “Please?”

He said nothing, his hands clenched into fists—what else was new?—his nostrils flaring. The tendons in his neck stood out in stark relief, and she had the sudden sense that he was holding himself back.

“Pretty please?” She said it again, her lips curling into a smile. “I’m asking nicely.”