Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

I look away, and his arms jerk again, as though trying to reach for me. “Hey. Jenny. Look at me.”

I do, and he holds my gaze patiently. “I’m sorry. I’m damn sorry.”

The simple words rip through me. They’re less than I deserve, but also more than I expected.

“You were beautiful last night,” he says gruffly. “And hot as fuck when I fingered you, but I suspect you know that. And you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

I feel a pool of moisture between my legs, and I have to remind myself that I’m in control, that this is my game.

I occupy myself with his belt buckle before I start on the zipper of his jeans, pulling it down slowly to reveal the plain navy boxers beneath.

I trail a finger over his erection. “I don’t know that sorry’s enough, Noah.”

“Tell me this wasn’t what you were doing all day,” he says, “buying…” Noah glances up at his wrists. “Pink zip ties.”

I give him a happy smile. “See, I knew you’d like the pink.”

He glares at me. “Stop this now, princess. You’re in way over your head.”

“Seems to me you’re the one in way over your head, big guy.”

I wrap my hand around his cock a

nd his hips buck.

“You like this?” I ask, stroking him through the fabric of his boxers.

His breathing is harsh and he says nothing.

I give a little pout. “No? What about this?”

I carefully ease both jeans and boxers down over his hips so that he springs free. I’ll admit to not having a ton of sexual experience—not good sexual experience, anyway—but even I know that Noah Maxwell’s body is extraordinary.

He’s all man, and the way he’s looking at me is all heat.

Well, heat and a bit of anger.

I touch my palm to his skin and he swears.

“You like this,” I say again. Not a question this time.

“Jenny—”

I remove my hand and sit back slightly, trying for coyness even though the first traces of panic are setting in. My plan was to torture him the way he tortured me. Making him say it the way he made me say it.

But what if he doesn’t want it like I wanted it?

What if this doesn’t work?

“I can leave,” I say with a shrug.

His eyes lock on my breasts as they bounce, and hope reignites.

My finger traces along his pubic bone. “Or I can stay. Up to you.”

His eyes are practically black now as they glare into me, and I know he’s fighting the good fight, torn between pride, common sense, and the lust that’s got him tied up in knots.

“Untie me,” he says gruffly. “Now.”