Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(74)

“I’ve been waiting for you all night, Dee.”





Chapter Twenty Seven





I turn in Duncan’s arms, but before I can speak he crushes his lips against mine.

He’s on me all in an instant, hands roaming, devouring. He lifts me up, carries me deeper into the room, and when I wrap my legs around his waist I can feel his bulge pushing into me.

“God, you smell so good,” he growls into my ear before capturing my lips again and making them his, sending my heart racing, my breath panting.

I melt in his arms, want to push off him because I’ve got such big news to tell him, but find myself unable to.

When he breaks our kiss, I finally manage to say, “Wait.”

He sets me down, concern on his face. “What’s wrong? Did anybody give you trouble outside?”

“No,” I say, seeing the flare of protectiveness in his eyes. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

Every fight night he’s like this. Ultra-possessive, protective, as if the whole world is out to get me and he’ll take them all on… and win.

It’s silly, but I know it’s a product of the mindset he has to get himself into. He spends the whole day preparing his mentality, so that when he’s in the cage, the prospect of having bones broken doesn’t scare him one bit.

It scares me, though. It always scares me.

“I think I need to tell you something,” I say to him quickly, but when I see the look in his eyes I know he’s not in the talking mood.

His tight body glistens in the dim light, and in between us his manhood is an iron bar pressed up against my abdomen through his towel.

I touch his face, feel his heat. He takes my finger into his mouth, bites it, and I touch his soft, full lips, trace my finger along the sharp line of his jaw, over his cheek bones.

God, he always looks so good before fights. I don’t know why I like it so much, I just do. The sweat, the dim lights, the way he’s so locked-in, the desire I see in his eyes…

I can smell him, too, from his pre-fight warm-ups. I love the way he smells, especially when I can detect a hint of his musk.

His eyes narrow, and there’s a break in his expression.

“Nothing,” I say, quickly. I realize that now is not the time to tell him. I realize that doing so will shatter whatever stony state he’s in, whatever mindset he needs to be in to take a beating and win this fight.

I can’t do that to him. I won’t. The news will have to wait. He’ll still be here after his fight, and so will I.

The fight won’t last that long.

It can wait.

I lean back, look at his bulge, the outline of his need for me, and then back into his eyes.

“You look hot,” I tell him.

A small grin parts his lips, and I see the tops and bottoms of his straight teeth. He pulls me close to him, wraps an arm around my waist.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “I want you.”

I coil my arms around his neck, smile back at him. My heart is racing, there’s so much going on in my mind at once.

But what floats to the top is the knowledge that I want him, too. That I’ve also been thinking about him all day. That after the first tears of panic, and last tears of joy, that I wanted nothing more than to be with him.

To be close to him.

God, why today, of all days? Why fight night?

“How much do you want me?” I ask him.

The lust for me that I see in his eyes catches fire.

Duncan pulls me in tighter, and I fold my arms around him, run my palms along his hard, broad back.

But he turns me around in his arms so he’s behind me again. He likes to be behind me. He begins kissing the side of my neck. The touch of his warm, soft lips makes me hum, makes me crane my neck to the side so he can kiss more of me.

“More than anything,” he growls. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you smell, the way you taste, the way you feel.”

The sensation of his warm breath rushing against my neck is intoxicating, and his body heat radiates into me.

His hands run up my sides, and I feel a welling of anticipation inside me, a pressure. His touch, even through my clothing, is so electric, so possessive. It’s like my body belongs to him.

“You’re only mine,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m never letting you go.”

He’s like this normally, but on fight nights, it’s dialed up to eleven.

I press back into him, feel his hardness against me, and reach behind me and cup him through the fluffy towel he’s got wrapped around his waist.

“You’re always so hard,” I tell him, the thought turning to words effortlessly.

“You make me hard,” he says, taking a fistful of my hair. He tugs it back, makes me look up at the ceiling, and from behind me he leaves a trail of hot kisses along my jaw, my chin.