He's impossibly patient. Slowly, pulling my body into his, slipping his tongue into my mouth, claiming me.
I want that so badly. I shouldn't. I should hate the idea of him possessing me.
But I don't.
I love it.
I need it.
I need it so badly.
He pulls back with a heady sigh. Slips his hand into my hair. Cups the back of my head, equal parts gentle and demanding. "Are you ready?"
My nod is much too enthusiastic.
His laugh is low and easy. "No hangover?"
"Better now."
"You sure?"
"Very."
His smile spreads a little wider. God, it's such a beautiful smile. It lights up his dark eyes. "Enthusiastic."
"You're evil."
"I know." His fingers curl into my scalp. His eyes fix on mine. They stay bright. Teasing. Utterly in control. "You're killing me with that dress."
"I know."
"Good girl." He pulls me into another kiss. He's not patient this time.
He slips his tongue into my mouth, swirling it around mine, claiming my mouth as he knots his hand in my hair.
When our kiss breaks, his eyes find mine. They're not playful anymore. They're entirely demanding.
"Go upstairs. Close the door. Wait on the bed."
I nod. Take a step backward. Hold his gaze for as long as I can.
The need in his eyes sets me on fire. Fuck, he's so hot. I can't stand it.
I force myself to turn. To move to the stairs. Then up them. Down the hallway. Into the bedroom.
The same white light. Only brighter. Closer to afternoon.
It casts highlights over the sleek sheets, the hardwood floor, the dark fabric of my dress.
My eyes go to the mirror. My reflection. A girl I recognize—messy teal hair, raspberry lips, dramatic black dress. And one I don't—
A sex goddess. A vixen. A woman who knows how to command the room.
That's how he sees me. And knowing he's making me wait—
I'm nervous, but that's such a distant concern. Overwhelmed by desire. By the bliss making my veins buzz.
Even that voice, the one in the back of my head, asking what if this is the end—
It's far away. Quiet. Aware it's less important.
Maybe it is the end. The last time I have him. But, fuck, I need to have him.
Whatever that means.
He's driving me out of my fucking mind. I need to do the same to him.
I find my boots in the closet. Slip them on.
There. I have my way to tease him.
With the thought of me in his bed, in only my boots.
It's so—
Fuck. I can barely see straight.
I force myself to sit on the bed. Press my knees together. Let my gaze drift around the empty room.
It's so much like Ian's apartment. Wide open space. Sparse details. Sleek design.
Lighter colors. But the same bold choices. Teal and white, not teal and black. Teal and—
God, what if that's it? What if my hair is the only reason why he likes me? If my color fades in the surf—it always does—and the magic is gone.
I know it's not true. It's silly. But it's there, somewhere deep in my thoughts, that question.
Why is he here? Why does he want me? Why in the world did he pay me half a million dollars for thirty days?
I would have said yes if he asked.
And, now, if he asked me to choose—the rest of the money or him—I'd choose him. Even if it was one time. One night.
My libido is running my brain.
Do I even have a brain? Or am I a being of pure want?
I close my eyes. Let my thoughts drift to memories of him.
His hand between my legs. His tie around my wrists. His lips on my neck.
Eventually, my eyes blink open. My gaze drifts to my reflection. The thin black straps of my dress. The dramatic line the fabric draws between my breasts. The hint of cleavage.
Footsteps move closer.
Then a knock on the door.
"Come in." I press my knees together.
The door slides open. He steps inside. Presses it closed.
He's still in that silk robe. My fingers itch for the smooth fabric. The warm skin beneath it.
I need to touch him more, see him more, feel him more.
Everything, right now.
Everything, all the time.
"Stand up so I can look at you." His voice is firm, deep, demanding.
It makes my thighs shake.
I take a deep breath. Push myself off the bed. Onto my feet. Well, my heels.
I pull my dress a few inches. So he can see my shoes.
He smiles, almost breaking character. "Are you teasing me, vixen?"
"Following orders."
He looks at me in a way that screams you're still teasing and I'll make you pay for that. "Is that right?"
"You want me in your bed. In only my boots."
"True." His eyes move over my body slowly. From the top of my head to my combat boots, then back up, all the way to my eyes. "You're gorgeous."
"Thank you."
"Turn around."
I do.
He lets out a low sigh of pleasure. "You test my patience, Eve. You know that?"
I shake my head.
"I go out of my mind, thinking about what I want to do to you."
I turn so I'm facing him. "What do you want to do?"
"Fuck you so hard you see stars."
I swallow hard.
"I want to tie you to my bed and split you in half." His voice stays firm. "And I want to hold you close. Kiss you as I drive into you slowly. As I savor every second."
I don't know what to say to that. So I nod.
"I want to make you beg, vixen. But I don't have the patience."
"No?"
"No. I want you too much." He motions come here.
I turn. Then take four steps to him.
He takes my hands. Places one on his chest. The other on his stomach. Nods something that means touch me as much as you want.
I'm not sure that's possible. My want is infinite. Even with all the time in the universe, I won't touch him enough. I'll need more. I do need more.
But, fuck, the feel of his skin against my palm—
The warmth of his body. Soft skin over hard muscles. And those raised lines of ink. I want to trace every one. To understand all of him.
I run my fingers over his chest. Down his stomach. To the waistband of his boxers.
A groan falls from his lips.
He presses his palm into my lower back. Pulls me into another deep, slow kiss.
He's right. It's not as patient as before. It's not patient at all.
The same need that's inside me.
It pours from his lips. Vibrates down my throat, chest, stomach, thighs. All the way to my fingers and toes.
To the parts that need him most.
His tongue dances with mine.
His fingers curl into my dress.
He pulls back. Shifts his position. Behind me. So I can see our reflection in the mirror.
Ian tosses his robe aside. The smooth fabric shifts against my skin. Sleek and cool and expensive.
Then the warmth of his body. Of his skin against mine.
His chest against my bare back. His hands on my upper arms. His lips on my neck.
His gaze shifts to our reflection. "Watch."
I nod. Not that I need to be told. Watch. How could I not?
He brings his hand to my chin. Turns my head so I'm looking at him. So I have to take in the intensity in his expression.