Torn:Billionaire Bachelors Club #2(10)

"We shouldn't do this," I whisper, pressing my lips together when I feel  his hands slide over my butt. Oh my God, his touch feels so good.

What the hell am I thinking? Letting him touch me like this? It's wrong. Us together is wrong.

So why does it feel so right?

"Do what?" His question sounds innocent enough, but his touch isn't. He  pulls me into him so I can feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection  pressing against my belly and a gasp escapes me. He's big. Thick. My  thighs shake at the thought of him entering me.

I need to put a stop to this, and quick.

"I don't think we sh-"

Gage presses his index finger to my lips, silencing me. I stare up at  him, entranced by the glow in his eyes, the way he stares at my mouth.  Like he's a starving man dying to devour me.

Anticipation thrums through my veins. I should walk away now. Right now,  before we take this any further. We're standing in the doorway of the  bakery for God's sake. Anyone could see us, not that many people are  roaming the downtown sidewalks at this time of night. He's got one hand  sprawled across my ass and he's tracing my lips with his finger like he  wants to memorize the shape of them.

And I'm . . . parting my lips so I can suck on his fingertip.

His eyes darken as he slips his finger deeper into my mouth. I close my  lips around him, sucking, tasting his salty skin with a flick of my  tongue. A rough, masculine sound rumbles from his chest as his hand  falls away from my lips. He drifts his fingers down my chin, my neck,  and my breath catches in my throat.         

     



 

"Gage." I whisper his name, confused. Is it a plea for him to stop or  for him to continue? I don't know. I don't know what I want from him.

"Scared?" he asks, his lids lifting so he can pin me with his gorgeous  green eyes. They're glittering in the semidarkness, full of so much  hunger, and my body responds, pulsating with need.

I try my best to offer a snide response but the truth comes out instead. "Terrified."

He lowers his head. I can feel his breath feather across my lips, and I  part them in response, eager for his kiss. "That makes two of us," he  whispers.

Just before he settles his mouth on mine.

The kiss is just the right blend of soft and hard, demanding and giving.  I wind my arm around his neck, slide my hand into his hair and pull him  closer. Needing him closer as our tongues dance, our sighs mingling  together into one perfect, cohesive sound.

He pushes me against the cool glass, one hand still gripping my butt,  his other hand drifting down my front. A barely-there touch over the  soft cotton of my T-shirt, my entire body tightens in response; my  nipples harden beneath the lace of my bra.

I feel like I'm drowning. In his taste, his hands, his scent, his  overwhelming presence. It's so confusing, what I'm feeling while in his  arms. I don't like him. I don't want to want him.

But I do.

The kiss grows hungrier, more insistent. Our hands are everywhere, his  slipping beneath my T-shirt to touch my belly. Mine slide down to curve  over his very firm backside, squeezing, pulling him closer. Until we're  nothing but a panting, yearning, straining mess.

I break the kiss first, staring up at him in dazed wonder. His swollen  lips are parted, his hair a mess from my fingers, and he watches me, his  breathing rough.

He looks too beautiful for words.

"We shouldn't-"

"I'm sorry-"

We start talking at the same time, his apology making me want to shove him away.

Instead I grab hold of his tie and pull him into me, our lips crashing  together, our tongues circling, tasting. It's a frenzied, out-of-control  mess, and I fall back against the glass door again, startled when I  hear the familiar tinkling of the bell above us.

He ends the kiss this time, his gaze lifting, staring just beyond my head and through the door. "We need to-"

"Move this elsewhere?" I ask, earning a startled glance from him. I bet  he didn't expect that. "I agree." I push him away, and he steps back,  looking just as dazed as I feel. Grabbing hold of his tie again, I take  him with me, walking through the café toward the kitchen, the two of us  completely silent.

I can hear him breathing, feel his warmth radiating toward me, and I let  go of his tie, take hold of his hand instead. He follows behind  willingly, his fingers locking around mine, and I hold my breath, afraid  he might say something to ruin the moment.

Thank God he keeps his big mouth shut.

Excitement pulses through my veins. I can't believe I'm doing this. It's  a mistake. I know it, and I'm sure he knows it too, but there's  something about him I can't resist. The way he looks at me, the things  he says, the way I feel when I'm in his arms, his mouth on mine, our  tongues tangling . . .

He's irresistible. And I'm tired of fighting it. Fighting with him.

We enter the kitchen and the minute the door swings shut behind us, I  turn toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he bends to kiss  me. Our mouths cling perfectly, the taste of him becoming quickly  addictive. I'm fast becoming addicted to the way he touches me, too. His  hands race over me, too light, not lingering long enough, and I move  against him with a whimper. His answering low moan vibrates against my  lips, sending an echo through my entire body, and I shift closer.  Restless. Wanting more.

I can't even question what's come over me. I don't kiss men I don't  really know. I definitely don't grope them either. I'm no prude, but  I've never had something like this happen to me. It feels so random, so  completely out of character. Scary and exhilarating and exciting and-

"You're thinking too much." He grabs hold of my hips and guides me  backward, until I bump against the wall with a startled gasp. Taking my  hands, he raises my arms above my head, pinning my wrists with his firm  grip. "You need to learn how to just feel."

Before I can offer any sort of argument, he leans in to kiss me, softly  at first. A teasing, gentle caress of his lips that makes me want more.  His kiss slowly becomes harder, then hungrier, until I feel like I'm  about to lose my mind-my very soul-to his greedy, wicked mouth.         

     



 

God, he's so right. I need to forget everything and just lose myself in  the moment. Lose myself in him. Let go of all my troubles, my hang-ups,  my wariness over getting involved with Gage. I want to feel his hands.  His mouth. His tongue, his fingers, his . . .

He breaks away to blaze a trail with his lips along my jaw, down my  neck. My hands are still pinned in his grip, and I struggle against it,  wanting to touch him.

Needing to touch him.

"If I let you go, are you going to run?" He breathes the question against my neck, his teeth nibbling the sensitive skin.

I shake my head. No way am I going to run away from this, though a tiny  voice deep inside my mind tells me I absolutely should, that I'm about  to make the biggest mistake of my life. "No."

His grip gentles on my wrists, his thumbs sweeping across my wildly  beating pulse. I shiver at the contact, shocked at how he can illicit my  body's response with the lightest of touches.

"I think I like having you trapped." He pushes my hands together and  grabs hold of both of my wrists with one big hand, his other hand  sliding down my front, between my breasts, one finger trailing down the  center of my stomach to stop just at the waistband of my jeans, sending  shivers cascading all over my skin.

"I'm sure you do," I say, trying for sarcastic, but yet again, I just sound breathless. Needy.

Damn it.

A smile curves his lips, the sight of it taking my breath away. "I'd like having you this way even more if you were naked."

Oh my God. I should tell him to go to hell right here, right now. We are so not doing this. Not doing it. Not doing it . . .

He slips his hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my  stomach, and I close my eyes, all protests, all thought forgotten. All I  can do is lose myself in the sensation of his touch, the way his  fingers curl around the waistband of my jeans before they move for the  button. He undoes it easily, sliding down the zipper, brushing against  the front of my panties, and I open my eyes, press my lips together to  keep from crying out.

The jerk knows I'm holding back. His smile turns arrogant as he pushes  first one side of my jeans down over my hips, then the other. He's  surprisingly agile with one hand, considering he's still holding my  wrists against the wall.

Not like I'd move them anyway. I sort of like being so open and vulnerable to his perusal. His touch.

God, why though? Why should I leave myself so open and vulnerable? Being  with him makes me feel free. It's exhilarating in the most scary,  forbidden way.

He's temptation personified and for once in my life, I want to completely give in to sin and not worry about the consequences.

"What are we doing?" I ask, my voice low. I need an answer. I need to  hear that he's just as lost to this as I am. If he says the wrong thing,  I should put an end to it right now. Kick him out and hope like crazy I  never see him again.