~ * ~
Adam stared down into Lucy’s pale green eyes and knew he was screwed. There was no coming back from this, no walking away. If those sleek thighs rubbing restlessly together hadn’t tipped him over the edge, then her plea would have.
Still, he tried to fight it, one last push. He let all the reasons he should say no to her fly and slam through his mind. She was his best friends’ little sister. She was too damn young for him. Touching her would be a fucking sacrilege, a demon defiling an angel from heaven. But Lucy wasn’t some untouchable innocent. She was a woman, had been making decisions for herself for a long time, and right now she was standing in front of him telling him she wanted him.
Was he rationalizing this to make himself feel better about taking what she offered? No doubt. But she’d set the ground rules. Rules he could live with…couldn’t he?
“Adam?”
Uncertainty had crept into her eyes. She expected him to make some asshole comment, to put distance between them or walk away, his usual MO when he felt himself getting too close to her.
This time, though, he didn’t push her away. He reached down, took one of her hands gripping his shirt, and wrapped it in his. Her fingers were cold. “Let’s go back to the room.” Was that his voice? That fucked up mess torn from his throat?
Her fingers spasmed in his. “You want to go back to the room?”
“Yeah, I fucking do.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, fire slamming him in the gut at the feel of her smooth cheek. God, he wanted to kiss her, but if he did that, they’d never make it back to the hotel and she deserved more than to be fucked up against some building in a shadowy alleyway. He wanted to see her face, all of her when he finally got to touch and taste her. “Let’s go.”
Lucy didn’t say a word as he led her through the crowd and they emerged out the other side to stride along the mostly quiet streets. Her fingers were still wrapped around his so damn tight, like she was afraid to let him go, like she still didn’t believe this was going to happen. Walking away, sleeping in the damn car, sending her on a bus home would be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t do it, not now. He’d go to hell for this, burn for eternity, but it would be worth it for three days with Lucy.
Worth that and a whole lot more.
They reached the room and his goddamn hand shook when he pushed the key in and opened the door. He flicked on the light and shut the door behind her when she followed him in. Lucy moved to the center of the room, those fucking thighs jammed together again, hands clasped in front of her body. That innocent yet sexy white dress tormented him, making him feel like some kind of ravenous fucking monster. He wanted to tear the delicate fabric off her body and play out every one of his dirty fantasies.
But a stronger need called to him, stronger than the throb of his iron-hard cock. His mouth actually tingled with the need to kiss her—to feel the texture of her lips, to learn her taste, breathe in the scent of her skin while he discovered the way her tongue felt sliding against his.
How many times had he imagined her like this? Walking up to her, taking that lush mouth, and owning it. How many times had he stroked his cock and come just from the idea of it? He didn’t know what it was, why it was the simple act of kissing her that fucked him up when he thought of being with Lucy but, God, he wanted it, wanted desperately to swallow her moans, taste her sighs and whimpers.
He threw the keys on the small table by the window and crooked a finger at her. “Come here, Lucy.” He wasn’t trying to dominate or control her, but right then he didn’t think he could walk in a dammed straight line, not when his biggest fantasy was about to become reality.
Her breath hitched and he knew she liked it anyway, that perhaps sweet little Lucy wanted him to take the reins and lead her into sin. Her lashes fluttered as she moved closer, but her eyes didn’t leave his.
Fuck, the closer she got, the louder his mind screamed at him to stop this, that it was wrong, that he had no damn right to lay a finger on her delicate skin. He knew he should listen, that he should ignore the disturbing yet exhilarating ache behind his ribs, the hellish throb behind the zipper of his jeans, but he knew he couldn’t not touch her.
Finally, she was standing in front of him and it was too late. There would be no turning back now. Easy does it. Ignoring the need hammering him, he lifted his hand slowly and slid the tips of his fingers over the delicate curve of her shoulder, across to her collarbone. Savoring, memorizing. The indent at the base of her throat became more pronounced with her indrawn breath, goose bumps lifting across her sun-kissed skin.