Secretly Craving You(30)

"Liar," he said just above a whisper.

She approached him and gently pushed him toward the door—a feeble effort even for her small frame—but her hand lingered on one of his biceps, squeezed. Her other hand, cool and silky, pressed against his bare chest. She inhaled, and let out a breath that sounded like a soft sigh.

"Go, damn you," she said in a husky whisper. "You don't know the meaning of…"

Moving quickly, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head against the closed door. "What?" he asked, studying her lips—dark pink, swollen and parted. He ached to kiss her, slide his tongue into her mouth and consume it. Her gaze was furious. Passionate. Damn, if Emily aroused wasn't making him crazy with yearning.





Chapter Nine


"Turn me loose!" Emily tried to yank her wrists from Nick's unbreakable grip. Though if he let go, she'd hunger for his touch even more fiercely.

"That's not what you want," he murmured, his breath heating her cheek as he lightly brushed his lips over her skin. "Is it?"

Tingles covered her from her neck to her toes and her heart pounded furiously. "Yes." She tried to yell, but the words only came out a soft whisper.

But Nick was right. His hands restraining her, holding her arms above her head were making her hotter. Why didn't he kiss her? She was dying for the masculine taste of him, the harsh rasp of his stubble against her chin, the thrust of his tongue. She wanted a hard, driving kiss from him.

"I know what you fantasize about, little-miss-innocent." His breath skated over her lips. His dark, taunting expression both infuriated and aroused her.

"I'm not innocent, and you don't have a clue what I fantasize about."

He gave a smirking grin. "I've seen your stash of naughty books in the nightstand."

"How…what were you doing in my nightstand?"

"I searched your house, remember?"

She could think of nothing intelligent to say. So he'd read her erotic romance novels while searching her house? How could he have had time, and why was he interested in her reading material, anyway?

She was too distracted by his mouth-watering, bare pecs and abs, as well as that intriguing protrusion behind his zipper to ask.

Leaning in, he captured her mouth, and immediately, she was ready to consume him. She opened her mouth and he drove his tongue in with a primal growl. His tongue stroked hers, then flicked the roof of her mouth.

"Mmm." He tasted so good, so male and aroused.

"Damn," he breathed, then urged her to the bed, made her lie back on it and took the steel handcuffs into his other hand. That kiss, along with his dominance and manhandling, made her lightheaded with anticipation.

She tried to jerk away from him, at least she pretended to, but he already had one cuff secured around her wrist. He lifted her arms and ran the cuffs around the headboard post, then snapped her other wrist in. Maybe she should've fought him, kicked, yelled and screamed. But arousal had robbed her body of strength. Besides, why would she want to escape her own fantasy?

She'd always known it would be stupid to get involved with him, but she'd also known if he made a move on her, she'd never be able to resist. Craving him was as natural to her as breathing. It was something she'd lived with for three years. She couldn't say no to someone she wanted more than anything or anyone on earth.

She tested the strength of the handcuffs. The cool metal bit into her skin, a sharp, electrifying contrast to his hot hands sliding down her arms.

"I read that scene in the book where the pages were dog-eared. Hell, the spine of the book was broken you'd read that scene so many times. I know you fantasize about being handcuffed to a bed. Don't you?" He observed her with fascination. Normally, his steady gaze was piercing and unreadable, but now his eyes had darkened with deep arousal. Seeing how much he wanted her nearly took her breath away.

What he said was true. In her fantasies, Nick was always the hard, edgy cop who handcuffed her to a bed—and a lot of other wicked things.

What was he going to do to her next? Would he rip off her meager clothes? She could hope. He was already shirtless and barefoot, and she wished he would remove his jeans.

"If you want loose and want me to leave, just say I hate you." He waited, not touching her. She liked the way he played, wanting to fulfill her fantasies but also make her feel secure and protected at the same time.

Of course, she didn't hate him. Nor did she want him to leave her bedroom. Her body hummed with anticipation and yearning. Prickles of need swirled through her pussy. She'd love any part of him stroking against it, his fingers, his cock…

"I also searched your lingerie drawer," he confessed. "I found your vibrator."