Yes.
Absolutely.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
Shifting against him, she embraced the rise toward anticipation, reveling in the yearning he didn’t bother to hide. He put it all on the table—his desperate need for closeness, the unspoken plea for deeper connection, the patience he showed as color burnished the ridges of his cheekbones. Desire thundered through her. Kruger answered the call as blistering need threatened to pull her under.
God, he was beautiful. Strong in all the right ways…and some of the bad ones too.
Fingertips skimming, she traced his face again. His eyelashes flickered. His body tightened. Hard muscles flexed around her as he told her what he wanted. She pressed her thumb to the corner of his mouth. He opened for her. She swept in, kissing him deep, but gentle, taking her time.
A slow burn. A devastating duel. Incredible amounts of pleasure. Tongues dancing. Breath mingling. Bodies pressed close. Left hand still laced with his, she tangled the other in the dark strands of his hair. Thick. Soft. Long enough for her to grip. Beauty incarnate as he angled his head and growled down her throat, making the already fantastic absolutely phenomenal.
She took her time tasting him.
Kruger didn’t rush her. Letting her explore, he pulled her away from the wall. “Wrap me up.”
She hummed and did as she was told. Unlacing her fingers from his, she circled him with her arms and wrapped her legs around his hips. A pleased rumble left his throat. A hum of pleasure left hers. He turned and walked out of the vestibule into the hallway, providing friction right where she needed it. Tingles spread, shivering over her skin. Unable to hold back, she rode his edge, rolling her hips, moving with his strides, heart beating to his pulse.
“Fuck. Needy,” he growled against her mouth. “How long’s it been?”
“A while.” A long while, ages. Though no way would she tell Kruger that, or admit the reason why.
“I’ll make you come quick, then.” His hands roamed over her back. One went high to cup her nape, dragging her tank top up with it. The other drifted low, sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts. His heated palm trailing over her skin—astounding. The snag and drift of callouses over the curve of her bare ass—fabulous.
She squirmed against him. “Hurry.”
“Fingers and mouth first, fazleima. Get my taste. Settle you down, give you want you need, so I can fuck you slow.”
“Quick first, then—”
“Nay, Fergie. I’m gonna take my time.”
“I don’t know if I can handle slow.”
“Yer gonna have tae tonight.”
“You always get your way?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll see,” she murmured, picking up the gauntlet he’d thrown down.
He grinned against her lips. “You think you can change my mind?”
“I’m gonna try.”
“Good luck with that, fazleima.”
“Game on, cowboy.”
He chuckled.
She went to work, invading his mouth, kissing him deep, determined to drive him over the edge. She wanted him fast the first time, needed to feel him all around and deep inside her. He’d get his way the second—or maybe the third—go-round…not a moment before.
A test of wills, hers against his.
A contest she planned to win as she helped him arrive at a crucial realization: give and take was better than absolute control. His dominant nature meant she had her work cut out for her, but given the prize, Ferguson was more than willing to put in the effort. Kruger needed to learn what he didn’t yet know.
No matter how strong, he wouldn’t always get his way. Not with her. Not tonight, or tomorrow either, during the all-important problem-solving session.
It was tricky terrain for her to navigate. Enough to break her if Kruger refused to bend and the connection growing between them cracked, shattering her heart along with it. The intensity of what she already felt for him told her it was possible. Past experience warned her it was more than probable. Sex too fast, too soon, messed with people’s heads, making them do stupid things.
She knew it, believed it, but refused to stop, putting herself on the line with the understanding it could all go wrong. And in the end, she’d be forced to choose between the mesmerizing man in her arms and her duty to The White Hare.
11
Lost in carnal fog with Ferguson in his arms, Kruger kicked books out of his way. Heavy volumes tumbled across the floor. Ignoring the thuds, he turned out of the corridor and entered her bedroom. Soft lips pressed against his. Long legs wrapped around his waist. Breasts pressed to his chest. Small hands buried in his hair, fingers clenched, holding him tight as he walked and she tilted her head, taking the kiss deeper.
He groaned.
With a hum, she backed off, making him chase her mouth, driving the pace to the point of no return.
Not that he was going to stop. She was beautiful. Unabashed in her desire, uncaring she showed him her need. So fucking hot she pushed him to new heights, shredding his control, urging him to fall in with her plans and abandon his own.
He growled a warning.
She shifted against him, perfecting their fit as he tightened his grip on her. One hand cupping her arse, the other fisted in her hair, he gentled the kiss, trying to slow her down…and get his bearings.
Her bedroom was new to him. He hadn’t been able to enter during his first visit. Not that he hadn’t attempted to circumvent the inn’s magic. Scruples weren’t his forte—principles only got a male so far, after all—but The White Hare had held the line, refusing to open the doors and allow him entry, protecting the sacred space the new innkeeper would sleep inside, pressing its point home: he wasn’t welcome without an invitation.
A lot had changed in twenty-four hours.
Crossing the threshold with Ferguson in his arms, he felt the shift from nasty get-the-hell-out to warm hum. The inn liked him right where he was: inside her private sanctuary with her in his arms. Ferguson did too, encouraging his possession with soft gasps and roaming hands, caressing his shoulders, his jaw, his temples, the sensitive spots behind his ears, touching as much of him as she could reach.
Ankles locked against his lower back, she rolled her hips, riding him with firm pressure as he walked her closer to the bed. A sled-shaped frame—nothing to tie her to as he got what he needed: her naked beneath him, legs spread, busy hands unable to touch him while he shoved her agenda aside and carried on with his own. He wanted to sink into her heat, take her slow, push her hard, watched her expression when he made her come.
Normally not a problem for him.
Desperate for the pleasure he promised, the females he took to his bed always followed his lead. He’d never come up against one with a will as strong as his own. Not until now. Ferguson was threatening his control. The soft sounds she made undid him. The way she whispered his name shook him, lying waste to his convictions. Goddess, her voice. Husky with need, urgent with desire, stripped of artifice, leaving him exposed and wanting and—
Her teeth tugged at his bottom lip.
“Fergie,” he said, his voice rougher than hers, but no less desperate. “Need you tae help me out here.”
“No way.”
“Fazleima—”
“Take this off.” She yanked the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. “Off.”