Giving In(63)

She shivered because, moron or not, the way he said it just hit all her girly buttons. She was left with a goofy grin, her hormones raging over that ass of his. God, she was turning into a squealing teenager about to go on her first date.

Deciding to be a bit, okay a lot, bold, she followed him into the bedroom, hoping for a peek while he was changing. Apparently she could add voyeurism to her growing list of things she’d never imagined indulging in.

Her breath caught in her throat when she entered to see him stripped down to his underwear. His back muscles rippled as he pulled a shirt over his shoulders and she shamelessly stood there, enjoying the view.

Her gaze drifted downward to the very noticeable bulge in his underwear. It indeed appeared as though he did look forward to coming home to her each day.

Had it been a version of hell the last few days of them not having sex? Had she merely teased him with their first foray into intimacy? She didn’t like the idea of being some prick tease. It wasn’t in her nature to lead a man on. Not that it was what she was doing exactly. But she didn’t like the idea of him being unfulfilled.

He turned, his brow rising as he saw her standing in the doorway. Then he smiled as he reached for his pants.

“Is this where I say ‘busted’?” he asked with no remorse.

She shook her head, smiling back at him. “Not at all. I . . . like . . . seeing that you want me. Unless that erection is for someone else?” she asked innocently.

He snorted. “As if. Do you see any other gorgeous, desirable woman here?”

“Nope. Don’t even see one,” she said, her cheeks growing warm with his compliment.

He scowled at her response and then strode over to where she stood, pulling her into his arms. She landed with a thud against his chest and he tipped her chin upward before crushing his mouth over hers.

He rubbed his groin against her belly so she’d feel just how hard he was. She slid her hands between them, cupping his cock through the denim of his jeans, and caressed him gently.

His moan was guttural, the sound of a male in desperate need. Tonight, come hell or high water, she was going to mount a charge. If she had her way, neither of them would be aching much longer.





TWENTY


KYLIE and Jensen were seated at a table by the window at Cattleman’s and Kylie was munching on an appetizer of nachos when an extremely handsome man walked up to their table.

Beside him was a gorgeous woman with brilliant blue eyes and midnight black hair. It was a striking contrast. The couple looked like a million dollars together and it was obvious the man had money.

It wasn’t that he looked ostentatious, or he was one of those guys who openly flaunted his wealth. He just had a quiet authority about him and his clothing was designer, very expensive and looked very good on him. Then there was the rock the woman sported on her ring finger. It caught the light and shimmered, nearly blinding Kylie in the process.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but still. She wasn’t wrong about this man—and woman—being wealthy. She’d hung out in Carson’s circles enough to know the real deal when she saw it. She was also trained to catch on to the wannabes, the ones who tried to make it look like they had more money and status than they had in reality.

“Jensen, it’s good to see you,” the man said as he approached.

As he stopped at their table, he pulled the woman to his side in a gesture that looked practiced and automatic. It was obvious this man was possessive of her. It was evident in his body language. And the way he looked at her spoke volumes.

Jensen glanced up, his expression easing with recognition. And then he smiled warmly at the couple and stood. Kylie sat there like a deer in the headlights, unsure if she should stand or not. But Jensen reached a hand down to her, collecting hers and squeezing as if to reassure her.

God she loved that about him. That he was always so mindful and protective of her.

“Hello, Damon. Serena,” he said to the woman. Then he turned to Kylie, his eyes possessive, positively screaming to the world that she was his. “I’d like you both to meet Kylie. She’s very special to me.”

A surge of joy flooded her heart at the simple way he declared their relationship.

“Kylie, this is Damon Roche and his wife, Serena.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kylie,” Damon said, charm evident in his voice. But so too was there that authority that she’d noticed about him. There was something about him that fascinated Kylie but made her wary at the same time.

Dominance.

The word came silently to her, her instincts telling her unquestionably that this man was dominant. It seemed everyone around her was either dominant or submissive. The world seemed very small, indeed.