Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(12)

“You remind me of someone I’m not supposed to want.”

The rushing of testosterone inside him whipped faster until it moved in a frenzy. She means me. No. No way he could beat this. “Don’t. Don’t tell me his name.”

A line formed between her brows at his odd command. “Austin,” she whimpered. “Touch me, Aus—”

He broke, lunging forward until their lips were interlocked. “You need to be touched by Austin?”

Her whispered reply might as well have been a shout. “Yes.”

Austin savored the single damning word before bringing their mouths together in an imitation of f*cking, more impassioned than anything he’d ever been a part of in his life. Without pretending. Without games. For the first time in his life, someone had wanted him instead of the mask he wore, and that revelation pounded in his temples. The leg around his waist tightened and he growled into her mouth, shoving her roughly up against the wall, thrusting his hips up into the cradle of her thighs. They both broke away from the kiss on a groan that melded together, taking the place of the club’s music and ingraining itself in his brain forever. The sound was desperation and pleasure…and relief. For a fleeting moment, he thought he might have the strength to pull away and do the right thing, but every thought fled when Polly went up on her toes and bore down on his cock with a swivel of her hips.

“Fuck.” His accent broke again. Maintain. Have to maintain. “Give me permission to lift your skirt in back. You will feel my hands and you will love, P—” He cut himself off before uttering her name. “So beautiful. I must touch you. Please, you’ve made me so hard, zolotse. It’s only fair that you feel it.”

“You don’t seem the type to ask for permission,” she said, her thoughtful tone demanding his attention, almost as handily as the way she circled on him like a lap dancer. “D-do you like women who tell you what to do?”

A pulse point he hadn’t been aware of flared to life deep in his stomach, his knees dipping under the onslaught of anticipation. Sex for him had been a means to an end for so long, he’d built a dam. That had to be why he felt something give way and break at the idea of being told what to do. By Polly. His blood raced at the idea of it. Austin didn’t have time to answer—what in bloody hell would he say?—before she curled her fingers in the hem of his T-shirt and tugged the material up his chest.

“I want to see you.”

The look on her face intoxicated him. He worked hard to keep himself in peak physical condition—a con’s appearance was his greatest asset—but seeing arousal color her cheeks almost sank him to the ground. The higher she lifted the shirt, the harder she breathed until his own breath raced past hers, wheezing from his lungs. When the material was lifted all the way to his neck, she blinked up at him, as if unsure. “Anything. Do it all,” Austin said, without thinking.

She stuffed the T-shirt’s hem into his mouth. Her eyes widened, as if surprised by her own actions, which turned him on even more, if such a thing were possible. It gave him the odd intuition that they were making the same discovery. With his chest completely bare, his cock pressing against the fly of his jeans for her inspection, he replaced his hands on the wall above her head, stayed still, and let her look.

This. She needs control.

Polly reached for his pecs with a featherlight touch, tracing them down to his navel with such sensual intention, he moaned around the T-shirt.

“Press yourself against me like this. Your skin…”

Austin dipped and fused their bodies together. The leather of her top felt incredible against his chest, her skirt brushing his belly. More. Need more. He needed them naked from the waist down, barriers of clothing torn away. With Polly wedged between him and the wall so tightly, the ownership he felt multiplied. Or maybe she owned him. Both possibilities were blinding in their perfection. He grasped the knee of her leg still wrapped around his waist, letting his fingers slide down to her hip where they could twist in her thong. She liked that…her breath shuddering out, body writhing. Giving her any form of pleasure made him feel exultant, so he twisted the lace again.

Her response was to rip the T-shirt from his mouth and demand a kiss with her eyes. Her undulating body. Austin was frantic to oblige her, stamping his lips down onto hers with a growl that only intensified when she moved her * in a whip-tight circle, rocking his world on its axis. The thong ripped in his hand, but he barely noticed because Polly’s hands slid into the back of his jeans, tugging him closer into the endless temptation of her body. Christ. Jesus Christ.

“You going to spread your thighs for me against the wall, babe?” His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting, consuming. He breathed for the both of them, refusing to stop the kiss. Lost to it. Starbursts blinked behind his eyes, warning him he needed oxygen or he might have gone on devouring her, f*cking her through the rough denim of his jeans forever. “Haven’t been with anyone in a while. Is that right? Neither have I, because I’ve been waiting for this.” His hand found her backside and kneaded the smooth flesh, lifting her off the floor and onto his cock, making them both moan. “You want to order me around? Tell me what to do with my cock, where to put it, how fast to pump it? God, babe, don’t make me wait any longer.”

When her body stilled, horror dawned. Sod it. He’d completely dropped character. Totally cracked. Impossible. Only it wasn’t impossible, because Polly had filled his head, refusing to allow anything else in, including his goddamn conscience. Even now, he was praying she would be as taken by need as him and keep going. Let him give her pleasure. God, he was an inexcusable bastard. Her eyes were half mast as she looked up at him, mouth still red from his kiss. Seconds from losing consciousness. No. He’d never justified his actions to anyone, but it was imperative at that moment. Unfortunately, she moved before he figured out what the hell to say.