The Kiss Thief(42)
When we got to the house, Ms. Sterling was sitting in the kitchen, reading a historical romance. I walked in to get a glass of water, with Wolfe following me. As soon as her eyes snapped up from the yellowed pages, she angled her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose and grinned.
“How was your evening?” She batted her lashes, feigning innocence. “Pleasant, I take it?”
The fact that we entered a room together for the first time since we’d known each other probably gave our truce away.
“Get out,” Wolfe ordered, no menace or manners in his voice. Ms. Sterling hopped out, giggling to herself, as I poured myself a glass of water, refusing to spare him a look. We’d come here because he wanted to spend more time with me. I had no doubt it was neither my wit nor conversation he was after. The finality of what was going to happen between us hit me somewhere between the heart and the womb, sending waves of passion and panic through my body.
“Care for some water?” My voice pitched high. My back was still to him.
Wolfe covered my body with his from behind, running his fingers from the side of my thigh to my midriff. He cupped my small breast, making me gasp in shock and unexplained pleasure. His warm lips were on my shoulder, and I felt him stiffening behind me, his erection pressing against my butt. My heart fluttered behind my ribcage like a butterfly. Oh, my God. He was firm and hot everywhere, and the sensation of being shielded by him made me feel both helpless and invincible.
I drank my water in measured gulps, biding my time, as his fingers pinched one of my nipples through my dress and bra. I groaned, my back arching involuntarily, and I had to put the glass down on the counter before it slipped between my fingers. He chuckled, his hand sliding down my leg again and snaking through the side slit of my dress. His fingertips brushed the hem of my cotton underwear and he grumbled into my ear, making my skin break into violent goose bumps. Instead of running for my life—something every bone in my body screamed at me to do—I found myself wanting to dissolve in his arms. I was the idiot who told him I wasn’t a virgin. Now I had to deal with the consequences of my stupid lie.
“Water?” I muttered again, horrified when I felt my panties sticking to my skin from the dampness. My body felt rebellious and adventurous under his fingertips, but my mind told me we were still rivals.
He thrust his penis between my butt cheeks through my dress, and I moaned, my hip bones slamming against the counter. The pain of the hit was laced with delight I couldn’t understand. Part of me wanted him to do it again.
“The only thing I’m in the mood for right now is my bride-to-be.”
“Huh.” I looked at the ceiling, racking my brain for something to say. Was he going to take me from behind like some kind of animal? Sex was a foreign land I had yet to set foot on. I had plenty of time to surf the internet and read all about my future husband. He was a womanizer and had more than his fair share of girlfriends and flings. They were always well-educated, leggy socialites with shiny hair and an envious family tree. They always hung on his arms in the tabloids, staring at his face as though it was a rare gift he’d offered just for them. But among the squeaky-clean items about him, I’d also found a lot of headlines that flirted with a scandal. Hotel rooms with a trash can full of used condoms, a restroom incident at a gala thrown by his political party, and he’d even been locked in a car with a European princess for two hours, much to her family and country’s disdain.
“We need to take this slow. I don’t know you yet.” My hand trembled its way to his shoulder, pushing him awkwardly with no real force in my touch. I was still with my back to him.
“Getting in bed together will help rectify that,” he pointed out. I wished I’d stopped to think before I taunted him about sleeping with Angelo. But the lie got bigger and more important the more time passed.
He spun me around so I faced him and shoved me flush against the counter. I was both amazed and disturbed by how easily he manhandled me.
“Slow,” I repeated, my voice quivering around the word.
“Slow,” he echoed, hoisting me up on the counter. He stepped between my legs as if he’d done it a thousand times before—and he had. Just not with me. My dress rode up, and if he looked down—which he did, of course, he did—he could see my matching yellow panties and the unmistakable stain of lust where the slit was. He cupped my behind in a punishing grip, slamming our groins together, and my breath hitched at the thing that met my damp panties.
My very damp panties.
I was soaked. Embarrassed to the bone. I hoped he wasn’t going to touch me down there because that would only prove to him how much I craved him.
My eyelids lowered, heavy under the weight of my desire for him. He put his lips on mine and kissed me long and hard, plunging into my mouth in a rhythm that made a ball of something warm and brilliant swell in my womb. He crushed his body against mine and rubbed his swollen cock against my center, and I dragged my fingers over his back like I’d seen women do in the movies, enjoying the power of touching him however I liked. It felt good, and I didn’t want to think about anything else. Like how we were a lie. Or how the lie felt better than the truth—the reality of my life. I pushed aside my feelings for my father, and my missing Angelo, and the worry for Mama.
It was just the two of us tucked in a bubble I knew was bound to burst.
Wolfe snaked one hand between us and rubbed my slit through the fabric of my panties. I was so wet, an apology for reacting this way to his body was dancing on the tip of my tongue. He continued kissing me, chuckling into my mouth every time I squirmed and moaned.