He catches my hips and walks me to him. “You can keep the T-shirt if I can keep you.”
It’s teasing, I tell myself, but it doesn’t stop the flutter of my belly. “Do I get tacos in trade?”
His lips curve. “You most definitely get tacos.”
“Well then,” I say. “A T-shirt and tacos. I’m a keeper.”
He catches my hand and walks me to him, the rush of attraction between us in that touch. “I liked you better with the lipstick on your nose,” he says, his voice pure masculine seduction.
So much so that it takes me a moment to process what he’s just said, at which point, my eyes go wide. “You knew I had it on my nose and you didn’t tell me?”
He chuckles and leads me past the living room. “Hard to miss. It was right there on your nose.”
We are teasing and laughing as we return to the living room we’d left, and he convinces me to sit on the rug in front of the table and closer to the fire. Once we’re cozy on the rug, he opens the lid to two boxes of six giant tacos. “Who else are we feeding?” I ask.
“I wanted you to get to try them all.”
It’s a sweet gesture that I don’t miss. “I doubt I can eat even one of those tacos. They’re huge and you ordered twelve.”
“Twelve good bites might equal most of a taco. If you really dig in.”
I shake my head, smiling, and I don’t recall smiling so much with any other human being so easily. He starts explaining all of the sauces and I relax into the next half hour, munching with him, and trying everything.
“One more bite,” he urges after I have had my twelve bites and then some.
I wave him off. “I can’t eat one more bit. I only ate what I did because the food was so good.” I turn away from the table, offering it my side view. “Now I have to workout extra this week and it’s your fault.”
He shuts the box and rotates to face me, one leg up, at my side. “I have a great home gym here that I use every day. You’re welcome to it but I do believe I could keep you otherwise occupied.”
“You are bad.”
“I am, Aria. For you.”
My lashes lower and then lift. “So you keep telling me. Maybe it’s me who is bad for you.”
He moves then, dragging me to him, his hand tangling in my hair almost roughly, his lips now a breath from my lips. “You are bad for me, Aria. Because you make me forget things I can’t afford to forget.”
I make him forget.
I suddenly want to make him forget. Greedily, against all that I have been taught all of my life, of what is expected of me, I want to know this man. I want to push him to let me know him.
“I have never needed what is bad for me more than I need it right now,” I dare.
His grip in my hair tightens to a biting, erotic pull, and he drags my head back, his teeth scraping my neck. My nipples pucker as if he’s licked them. My sex clenches with the hope that he will soon be inside me. And when his lips tickle my lips, I am panting as he warns, “You should run away, Aria.”
“Later,” I whisper, and I’ve barely spoken the word before his mouth is on my mouth. His tongue strokes deep and I can taste that dark part of him that he’s warned me of, that dangerous part of him. And God, how I want that part of him. Perhaps that part of him is exactly why I’m here. But in his darkness is my freedom. And I have been caged for so very long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kace drags his T-shirt over my head and then drags me onto his lap. His mouth captures mine, and he is kissing me with a torment, an almost angry demand, and I like it. I like it because it tells me that I have found another piece of the real man, a little piece of the real man he hides behind the rock star and I can’t help myself. I want more.
One of his hands splays between my shoulder blades, and the other once again closes around my hair, his grip biting as he drags my head backward, his mouth pressed to the delicate skin of my neck. Goosebumps lift on my skin as he lowers me further, toward the floor, his powerful arms holding me, his teeth scraping my nipple with an erotic pinch he licks away with his tongue.
Now, my hands are in his hair, and I’m the one holding on, and not gently. A low, rough sound escapes his lips and suddenly his mouth is back just above my mouth, but he doesn’t kiss me. “You’re playing with fire, baby. You know that, right?”
“Am I?”
“You are.”
“What if I like it? What if you like it, too?”
For long seconds he holds me there, his big body arched over mine, before he says, “Damn it, woman,” his voice sandpaper rough with desire. “You will see, and too soon for me, I know.” He lays me back, settles me on the blanket, dragging my legs to his hips, my back arching, breasts thrust in the air, his hot stare traveling my body.
He waits for me to ease into the soft rug, to relax before his hands caress up and down my legs, up and down, a promise of every place his hands will soon travel in that touch. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he declares, his voice absolute, his thumb sliding into the slick heat of my sex. “So wet,” he says. “So ready for my tongue.”
My nipples tighten with the words and I bite my lip. No one has ever talked to me this way. No one has ever lit up my body so completely. He slides down lower, his breath a hot tickle on my clit. “You do want me to lick you, don’t you?”
I’m already melting for him, melting as I’ve never melted for a man when his mouth is suddenly closer, his breath teasing my clit, his fingers sliding inside me, driving me wild while his gaze finds my gaze. I gasp and he orders, “Say it. Say you want my tongue on your—”
“Kace,” I whisper urgently before he can say the word, my lashes lowering, my hips lifting into his touch.
But already he’s denied me that touch.
His fingers are gone, no longer inside me, but my legs are over his shoulders and his mouth is right where I want it. He licks my clit, and I gasp. I’ve barely recovered when the warmth of his mouth is around me. Already, I’m spiraling inside the pleasure, so close to orgasm, so very close. I want to fight it. I want to slow it down, but I can’t. His tongue is everywhere I need it. His hand is on my breast, my belly, my hip. He licks me and licks me and I can’t breathe with the demands of my body for release. His fingers slide inside me again and I’m over the edge. I gasp and then tense before my body spams around his fingers. I tremble and quake and then it’s over. My body that had been tense and arched into him, collapses onto the floor. He eases my legs down and then he’s over me, hand on my head. “You were always going to be on my tongue. We both knew it.” And then his tongue is in my mouth, the taste of me on his lips. And when he tears his mouth from mine he says, “You, woman,” he says, “are trouble.”
“I keep telling you that,” I whisper, but he’s moving, his big perfect body no longer over mine.
I gasp in shock as he rolls me to my belly and pulls me to my knees. He’s behind me, his hand on my backside, and when I think he might actually spank me, his palm caresses upward, a path to the center of my shoulder blades, where it rests. He’s beside me now, and leans in close, his mouth at my ear. “Stay just like that. Don’t move.”