Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(72)

“Weeks?” I tease, but my heart is racing. I can’t help but begin rocking against him, his confession building my own desire to desperate heights.

He breaks free of the kiss with a groan, his hands sliding down to grip my ass. Guiding me up onto my knees gives his mouth easier access to my nipples. He takes full advantage, pulling one into his mouth. I inhale sharply against the almost painful suction, but he quickly counters it with a soothing tongue.

My arms instinctively wrap around Cain’s head, squeezing him closer to me as my fingers wind through his hair. It’s always styled so perfectly that I expected it to be stiff with product. I’m delighted to find that it’s silky smooth.

I press my body closer to him. I can’t get close enough.

“Fuck, Charlie,” he growls, his thumbs sliding under the straps of my panties to yank them down as far as they can possibly go, until I hear the first tears of the elastic in them from being stretched too far.

I’m not quite sure how Cain maneuvers so smoothly, but in seconds he has me on my back, lying along the seat of the bench, as he stands over me. It’s not the most comfortable thing to lie on but right now, I really don’t care.

With proficient skill, he effortlessly draws my panties all the way to my feet and, removing them, tosses them casually to the ground. Gripping my legs by the calves, he gently bends them and pushes them back, making room to prop himself up with one knee on the bench and a leg on the ground, facing me. His hands land on my knees and begin their descent down the inside of my thighs. Heat rises in my lower belly.

And then he pushes my thighs apart. Wide apart.

Suddenly, the fact that I’ve been taking my top off on a stage for several weeks means less than nothing. I’m lying completely exposed on a pier bench in the middle of the night, for a man that every straight woman lusts after—that I lust after—and the very though has tension suddenly jetting through my body. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Not so quickly.

Cain wasn’t kidding about not wasting time.

He shifts himself to hover over me, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining beautifully as he holds himself up. “You’re nervous,” he accuses with a tiny, teasing grin before he leans in and lets his tongue dart out to catch my lip.

“No, I’m not,” I lie, feeling my cheeks flush.

“You tensed up,” he pushes, nipping my bottom lip playfully before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. “You sure you’re okay with all this? We can stop.”

It is rather sweet of him to be so in tune with my body and concerned about me, but I don’t want to stop. In response, my fingers wind through his belt buckle, unfastening it and making quick work of his buttons and zipper, my hand diving beneath his briefs to grasp his cock faster than I think he expected me to.

A low groan escapes Cain’s lips.

And I smile. Ben was so very wrong. There’s nothing Hobbit-sized or malformed here. Cain is perfect.

“What’s wrong—you sure you’re okay with this?” I tease, stroking his length, feeling the drops of moisture at the tip. Drops for me. I pull my hand out and make a point of licking my thumb as I peer up at him from beneath heavy lashes. “Are you nervous?”

He chuckles. Though it’s not unpleasant, there’s a hint of wickedness in the sound that I haven’t heard from him before. “Is this a new game of yours? Okay, Charlie, you know I like to play your games.” Shifting out of my grasp, Cain’s hands work my dress down to my ankles and off. “I was going to let you keep this on, but . . .” Standing, he folds my dress into a neat pile and tucks it under my head like a pillow. Then, he resumes his perch on one knee, admiring my body without reservation. I don’t doubt that the moonlight overhead is providing ample light for his perusal. I refuse to cower under his scrutiny, though this is both the most erotic and the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced. “Does Security ever walk down here?” I ask, unable to mask the apprehension in my voice.

His hands move to my thighs. He pushes my legs farther apart, lifting one up to rest on the back of the bench while he urges the other one down, to dangle off the edge. Despite my attempts to act nonchalant, I inhale sharply, my body beginning to ache, searching for some relief, both from him and this compromising position.

“They won’t tonight. I’ve made sure of it. I wouldn’t do this with you out here, otherwise.” I trust that he wouldn’t, which makes me relax, marginally. With the high, thick wooden rails around us and the small structure that serves as a barrier behind us, we are invisible to everyone.

Still . . .

I don’t know many guys who could just sit there and study a naked woman spread out like I am, especially given that I’ve just confirmed that Cain is rock hard and dripping. But this is what I get for trying to tease a man with the self-control of a machine.

I lie there, watching him—fully dressed—stare at me with a low, intense burn within those brown eyes for what is probably only a minute but feels like an eternity. Finally, that curl that I love touches his lips. “I’m not afraid to admit that I’m a little nervous, Charlie.” I gasp as I feel a single finger trail slowly down my center, my body tensing up. “Can you admit that? Or are you going to continue lying?”

Cain is nervous? Panty-dropping hot Cain, who has women literally throwing themselves at him, is nervous about being with me? “Yes, I am,” I finally whisper.