You're to Blame(49)

Nothing could’ve stopped me from moving into him on the dance floor. The way his hands touched my hips had me weak. His scent still lingers on my tank top.

“You don’t mind if I stop by my place, do you?” Duke asks, driving through the nearly empty side streets.

“No, that’s fine.”

“It’s just my shirt is wet, and I’d like to get the leftover beer off my skin.”

“I said it was fine.” Whoa! Hello, snarky bitch. I contemplate apologizing, but he shows zero reaction to my attitude.

The lines painted on the road pass by at a rapid speed. If I swing this door open and roll, what are the chances of minimal physical damage to my body? A broken bone would hurt less than this awkward silence.

“I’ll just stay here,” I announce, staring out the window.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He waves to me through the front window, and with a loud groan, I get out and follow him into his apartment.

The smell of his cologne accosts me when his front door opens. Jesus! This is freaking torture. Does he spray it like air freshener? I inhale deeply, gaining his attention.

“You okay?” With one hand, he tugs on the back of his shirt. The material skims over his soft skin until it’s free and thrown into the hamper resting beside his couch. His eyes erupt with desire.

“What are these?” I push past him, needing a break from his sculpted body. I run my fingertips over the stack of colorful hardcover children’s books.

Duke takes large steps until he’s beside me. His chest bumps my arm.

Keep still. Don’t show him how badly you want to feel the rest of him against you.

“Don’t look so surprised.” Duke’s voice is low, a seductive whisper in my ear. His capable fingers brush my hair over my shoulder. A delightful chill runs through my body. Keep touching me. Please don’t stop.

“There’s more to me than tattoos and a poor attitude, Charlotte,” he says when I don’t say anything, struck stupid with silence. His tongue jets out, wetting his bottom lip.

Duke Anderson is a fucking dream. I’ve seen gorgeous men before. They aren’t something new to me. Hell, I’ve spent half of my life with one, but nothing compares to the specimen standing in front of me.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” In a flash, my eyes bounce to his bare chest and back to his face with his perfectly chiseled cheek bones and jaw.

“Like what?” His words are as smooth as satin and settle right in the pit of my stomach.

“Like you want to eat me up.” The pads of my fingertips run along his jaw. Curiosity is a real hellcat.

Duke’s hand grips tightly around my wrist, stopping my perusal. The pain is surprisingly heady and centers me, bringing me back into the moment.

“What if I do? What if touching you is all I ever think about?”

His words immediately hit me between my legs. Keep yourself under control, Charlotte. Shit, he’s looking at my chest. Deep steady breaths. What the fuck am I talking about? There’s no controlling this. Your body wants what it wants. There’s no derailing this train, no matter what my head tells me.

“What are you waiting for?” Well, there goes the last ounce of my resolve.

Being with Duke, connected to him, would be like driving down the highway in the wrong direction. It’s exhilarating, sure, but you take the risk at a crash and burn.

Duke takes one small step, closing the little space between us, and pushes my body backwards. His hands hold firm to my hips. We become a mixture of limbs and lips and fall to the couch. His body presses on top of mine, the perfect pressure between my legs. Fuck. I’m about to break a world record for undressing. I spread them to make room for his large frame, and heat seers my skin. Perfection. I sigh at the sensation. The softness of his lips on my neck skates up to my jawline, and I shudder.

He lifts up on his forearms, and his eyes watch me like he’s seeing me for the first time. I slip from underneath him, needing a moment to breathe. My back hits the wall. A beautiful pain shoots up my spine.

How did we go from practically having sex on the dance floor, to clear avoidance, to this moment? Both of our chests rise and fall with anticipation and fear.

“We shouldn’t,” I mutter. Shut up, head. We want this. Let us have this.

Duke stands, stalking over to me like a lion on the savannah stalks a helpless zebra. He takes my hand, kissing the sensitive skin at the base of my thumb. His emerald eyes wait for my reaction. My expression is steel, but my inside is melting.

“You’re my own personal hell, Charlotte.” The coolness of his ring bites at my jaw, until his hand wraps around the side of my neck, holding me in place. “You’re a temptress, and I’m not afraid to admit you’re probably right, but dammit, what if you’re fucking wrong?”

Duke tilts his head, kissing the corner of my mouth. There’s no use pulling away. This is where I’m meant to be. My head has no chance in winning when my heart calls out for him.

No words are needed. He wraps his hand around mine, and I skim my feet along the carpet, following him back to the couch. I’m weightless.

Boldly, I tuck my fingertips into the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, his fingers grip the hem of my shirt and peel it off. The silky material tingles as it glides over my skin. Duke is like my own personal Ecstasy. Everything is intensified by his presence. I’m aware of every move he makes, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.