Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(53)

My hands slide under his shirt, his warm, muscular body beneath my palms. “Please take this off,” I say, pushing it upward.

He drags it over his head, tossing it away, exposing an all-black tattoo covering most of his right shoulder, opposite the red bull I’d seen once before. My hand goes to it, fingers tracing the intricate design of skulls, an ace of spades, and roses. And I have the craziest thought that, like our attraction to one another, these are pieces of a puzzle that do not fit, and yet somehow fit perfectly, beautifully.

My gaze lifts and I find him watching me, unreadable, when I myself don’t even try to hide what I feel. Why would I? This is a weekend. He just said that himself. He’s a weekend kind of guy, and waking up with him a few mornings won’t change that fact. “I’ve never been with a man who had a tattoo,” I admit. “I’ve never been with anyone like you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Good, I think. Really, damn good, but instead, I repeat my thoughts from earlier. “What we think we want isn’t always what we need.” And what I need right now is this man.

He cups my face, staring down at me, his eyes sharp, penetrating, as if he can see my soul, and I have nowhere to hide. “I don’t want to be like anyone else you’ve been with, but I have to be honest. You make me greedy. I have you half naked. I could be inside you right now, and already that isn’t enough. I don’t want to just f*ck you, Skye.” He steps farther into me, pressing my hands to the wall, his cheek back against mine, his breath teasing my cheek. “I want all of you. Even the parts that create your fear of that elevator.”

I feel myself shut down instantly, my lashes lowering, my chest suddenly tight, emotions assailing me—they are always assailing me with this man. “She’s not available.”

He leans back to look at me. “And yet she’s the person I’m with right now. She’s the one who just withdrew and shut down.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “And it’s okay. You don’t know me enough to trust me, but I want to work on that.”

“We have two days, Jason. I think we should just get naked and—”

He brushes his lips over mine and presses my hands to the wall. “I want you to hold your hands there. They’re not tied up. You’re free to move, but if you do, I’ll stop what I’m doing. My control. Your pleasure. Your choice.”

“If my hands are against the wall, I can’t touch you.”

His lips curve. “And I want you to touch me, baby, but when I tell you to touch me.”

“I already don’t like this.”

“You will. I promise. But if there’s anything I do that you don’t like, just tell me. I’ll listen. And I’ll lick you someplace else. Or kiss you a whole new way. As long as I get to kiss you and lick you, I’m a happy man.”

My sex clenches, my nipples tighten, and I’m instantly losing my mind with need for him. It’s perfect. It’s amazing. He’s perfect and amazing, and yet my emotions are spinning, and his need for control is clear and present, while my own need for the same is clawing at me, and it’s not about fear. Or maybe it is. Not fear of what he’ll do to me, but of what he’s making me feel, fear of being exposed, of losing myself and getting hurt, in ways it took me years to recover from once before. No, twice. Twice before.

He lowers himself to the floor, settling on a knee, and my heart is racing, my adrenaline pumping like I’m running a marathon. Or running from a hot, sexy man who’s trying to chip away every wall I’ve carefully erected, only to leave me to repair it later. Once I’m standing before him naked, with him in control, I have this sense that I will be more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my life. Maybe I already am, but I can’t do it like this, without thought, in a hallway, of all places. “No,” I breathe out, grabbing his shoulders.

He’s on his feet in an instant. “No?”

No? Did I say no to this man? Do I want to say no to this man? No. No, I do not want to say no. I want to say yes and have it be safe. I want to be a little less vulnerable, and yet I want him. I want this weekend, and I’m screwing it up. “I meant yes.”

“You said no, Skye.”

“I meant not in this hallway. It feels cold and you make me feel warm, and it’s just this moment, okay? Can we—can you just—and then I will and we can and—?”

He cups my face. “I just want you, Skye. And I can’t repeat this enough. We can do, or not do, whatever you want.”

“What I want is for you to be naked, and me too, and I want you to kiss me, and—”

He kisses me, wrapping my arms around his neck and silently telling me I can have whatever control I want. And just like that, the nerves of moments before feel silly. But even that emotion is momentary, because all of the wanting and needing for hours between us snaps. Our kissing becomes crazy, wild kissing, and we can’t get enough of each other. He’s picked me up and carried me I don’t know where until I’m on a mattress, and he’s leaning over me.

And he is staring down at me, those green eyes of his darker now, troubled. I’ve seen his poker face, and I know he’s letting me see this. He wants me to know what he feels, when I’m not sure he lets many people see anything at all. But he says nothing. Instead, he rolls to his side, taking me with him and kissing me again. I lose myself in the rush of frenzied touches and kisses. Lose how we end up naked. But I am oh so aware of every lean, muscled inch of his body, which is more perfect than I imagined. And every thick inch of his cock as I help him roll a condom over it.