But he kept them light, lifting back as she tilted towards him.
‘Uh-uh,’ he teased. ‘You keep it the same—don’t go deeper until she’s begging.’
With one hand he played her like an instrument, gliding one finger after the other across her neck. Not makin
g music but pleasure, with gentle touches. But she knew the strength was there.
And she wanted it.
‘You keep doing it, keep touching, until she can’t think of anything but more, more, more.’ He punctuated the words with teasing kisses—now across her jaw and her cheekbones, trailing lazily across her face, until she turned her head to put her mouth back in his path. Because she hadn’t been able to think of anything else for eons now.
Vaguely she understood the extent of his charm and experience—he hypnotised with mere words and the most restrained of touches, influencing her mood and her mind and making her want to move. At first she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to push him away, but something burned. She didn’t want to be his mindless plaything. And then she realised he’d told her how to captivate him right back—with soft, teasing touches.
She unfurled her fingers, pressing them lightly on his chest. She felt his flinch as she did so. Through the cotton shirt she could feel his heat. With the tips of her fingers she smoothed slightly downwards, feeling his abs tighten all the more. Then she went north, spreading until she felt his hard nipples. She circled them and began him kissing back—nibbling at his lips, then pressing teensy, saucy smooches across his slightly stubbled jaw.
She realised he’d frozen. One hand was still pressed on the wall behind her, the other still cupped the back of her neck, but his own kisses had stopped.
Fear flashed—he was about to reject her touch again. But then she heard it. In his roughened breathing, in the rigidity of his body, she recognised the strain of holding back.
She smiled, moved her hands the tiniest bit faster, firmer, kissed more feverishly along his jaw. Little kisses, tormenting little touches. Only trouble was she was tormenting herself just as much—she wanted more.
He stopped her retaliation by grabbing her hands and forcing them down behind her back. The sudden manoeuvre thrust her breasts into his chest. Sensation shimmered down her body and on pure reflex she arched her spine, pressing closer against him.
His head came down, his mouth crushing hers. Nothing soft and teasing any more. Her neck stretched painfully as he forced her head back and plundered. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, deep and rhythmic. She sucked on it and she felt the growl, felt him tighten even more. With incredible strength he lifted her, sliding her up between his body and the wall—chest to breast, pelvis to pelvis, hand to hand, mouth to mouth.
He didn’t thrust against her—just pressed his hips into hers as hard as possible, pinning her so she could feel all those inches. Her senses rioted—screaming with over-stimulation while demanding yet more. More skin, more heat. All her instincts were insisting she get closer. She kissed him back as hard and furiously as he kissed her. Rough and hot and reckless. The force of each other’s passion merged and grew into something even more powerful between them. Blistering and insane. She shook with the fierceness of her need, aching to cling closer to him. But he still had her hands, so she clung with what she could—her mouth and then her legs. Hooking one around his waist, angling her body so she was more open to his. For a moment it was heaven as she felt him hard against her.
But he tore his mouth away, his hot breath gusting as he groaned, his grip painfully crushing her fingers.
‘I’m not going to make it that easy for you, honey,’ he said ferociously.
It was torture. It was bliss.
With each ragged breath his chest slammed against her taut nipples.
‘I could move this on here and now. Take you to your bed and finish this off. But why the hell should I?’ He was furious. ‘In the morning you’d be blinded by regrets. You’d convince yourself you’d been used all over again. You’d label me a seducer. Whereas the reality is you started this. But I’m stopping it.’
Her whole body throbbed, and painfully she lowered her leg from its tight curl around him. She was so sensitised she could feel her blood beating everywhere. He let her go and stepped back. She slid down the wall. She couldn’t look up at him. Instead she stared at his hands—bunched into fists at his sides.
‘I’m not going to take advantage of a woman who’s had one glass of wine too many.’
‘I have not—’ She broke off. Actually, him thinking she was tipsy was the perfect excuse for her incredibly stupid behaviour. Hell, maybe she was tipsy. Her head definitely felt cloudy—and her blood was running so quickly in her veins it was dizzying. With only some cake for dinner and then that wine… Yes, that was definitely her problem. And frankly she’d rather he thought she was a cheap drunk rather than this easy sober.
Oh, now the regrets poured in. The self-hate. She had been so close to being his latest conquest. So damn easy. And he was right, she’d been the one to start it. He hadn’t even wanted to start—only she’d pushed his buttons. Deliberately. Because she’d thought she could control it—and him. What a fool she’d been.
He was watching her too closely, knowingly. ‘You want to put it down to the wine, Nadia? Would that be convenient for you?’
Oh, it would. But she knew she couldn’t. She’d been hot for him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him tonight. And even though she knew he was a jerk she still wanted him. Stupid, stupid hormones. ‘I’d like you to go now.’
He shook his head. ‘You said you were honest. So be honest now and admit that you’re attracted to me as much as I am to you.’
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Yeah, here was the most terrible thing: she was into him. There was something about him that she really wanted. But this was nothing at all special to him. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss her, and only had because she’d started it. Hey, if it was offered on a plate he’d oblige. It was humiliating.
But suddenly he stepped forward, slamming her back against the wall of the house with his big body.
‘You know it’s true,’ he said, low and angry in her ear. ‘And now the anticipation is even stronger, right? Because now you know what it’s like. How good we’d be.’ His head lowered, his lips intoxicatingly close to hers. ‘You’re going to lie in bed tonight and not sleep a wink because all you’ll be able to think about is how much you want me. You’ll think about everything you want me to do to you. And what you want to do to me.’
‘Yeah, I know exactly what I want to do to you.’ She tensed and pushed uselessly against his chest. She’d certainly sobered up now. The guy was the most conceited jerk, and she was furious with herself for falling for his façade and his skills—for being pleased that he wanted her when it was no compliment. It wasn’t her he wanted. It was any woman. It was just that she was the one in front of him now—who’d made it even easier than usual.
‘It’s not me you should be mad at.’ He stepped back, totally misunderstanding her anger. ‘Don’t forget, Nadia, I’ve been the perfect gentleman.’
She darted inside and slammed the door, turning the lock with loud, vicious force. Even so, she could hear his chuckle as he walked down the path.
CHAPTER FIVE
NADIA drank three huge glasses of ice-cold water but was still hotter than a Habanero chilli. Her hands shook as she tossed the glass into the sink and she didn’t care when it shattered against the stainless steel. She bent her head and berated herself some more. She was furious. And he’d pay. He’d damn well pay for being such a player.
She stalked to her computer and pulled up the WomanBWarned blog, not stopping to think, just letting the words write themselves.
So, as you’ve read over on the Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out thread, the man himself has challenged me to go on three dates with him—so he can prove he’s not the use-her and lose-her jerk he’s portrayed to be. Interesting idea, don’t you think? And what does it tell us about the man himself—conceited, much?
It’s the absolute zenith of arrogance that he thinks he can somehow “win me over” in three dates. He is so cocksure of his attractiveness that he thinks he’ll prove what a “nice guy” he really is …
But I’m fair, willing to give him
the time to try, so I said yes and brought my open mind with me.
So let’s talk about the first date—he went with the movie idea. As we know, from his new GuysGetWise blog, he’s of the opinion that a movie is a good option—despite reading my view that its not the best first date option. Proof that while the guy might say he wants women to “share”, he’s not actually listening to what we say or want.
So I selected a three-hour foreign film that totally sucked. I chose it because he wasn’t getting any “chick flick, happy ending hormones” from me. Oh, no. In truth my favourite kind of movie is actually a good thriller or a cut-’em-up horror. I like the adrenalin. But why should he get the benefit from the kind of movie I like? Isn’t it up to him to give me the buzz—just from his company?
So lesson number one for Mr 3 Dates: you can’t stereotype women. We all have different tastes. And guess what? You are not my favourite flavour.
Sure, you’re good-looking, but is there anything beneath your pretty surface? Not so far as I can tell. Ladies, let me sum up what I learned about him tonight:
Mr 3 Dates is the kind of guy who tops up your wine glass when you’re not looking.
Mr 3 Dates is the kind of guy who thinks a fancy restaurant with beautiful food is all the effort he needs to put in.
Mr 3 Dates is the kind of guy who shrugs off any personal questions as if he’s afraid he’ll reveal something vulnerable that a woman might use “against” him—like the enemy he sees us as. He’s all about the hunt and women are the prey.
Yes, so far, Mr 3 Dates is totally living up to the rep he’s been given online. Without doubt he’s a player. The ball’s in his court to try prove otherwise. My advice to him?
Try harder.
Ethan read the blog post that had already appeared by the time he’d power-walked the half-hour home. Not that it had dispelled any of the energy cramping his muscles. He went to the cupboard and poured a whisky, knocking it back neat. It burned. But not as much as what she’d written. What? It was his fault she’d been thirstier than a fish? Not for the wine but for his kisses! She hadn’t been able to get enough. But had she admitted that? Hell, no. She couldn’t face reality at all—certainly couldn’t admit to her own responsibility, her own desires. She’d just warp speeded her way back to Planet Nadia.