As if she knew he wasn't able to say the words aloud, she simply handed him a cup and whispered, "Toss it."
Her words were so low, so seductive, that she could have been begging him to touch her, taste her, take her. He leaned into an overhand throw against the far wall. And the cup shattered.
"What an arm," she cheered, punching the air. "But we might need a little less exuberance. Or we won't get any pieces at all."
"Your turn." He shoved a saucer into her hand. She'd been right--the act of smashing the cup felt like it had smashed some of the anger boiling away in places he'd thought had gone cold a long time ago.
She narrowed her gaze and he could see her focusing on her anger about her mother's illness a beat before she executed an underhand toss like a dancer, arm out, up, rising on her toes, letting the delicate porcelain sail and drop.
It broke into solid lines on the concrete. One half remained intact, lying upside down.
"Your turn again," she drawled, then gave him a flirty smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. He felt the heat of her skin, caught the breathy exhalation. And suddenly this wasn't only about unleashing anger.
It was also about seduction.
He tossed the cup. She chose another saucer and threw it right after his. Everything broke with a tinkle of china. The intact half of the saucer snapped as they piled on.
"More," she said, grabbing, tossing, breaking, faster, one on top of the other.
Her breath came harder, her cheeks were flushed, her lips red, wet, inviting. He wanted to sink into her while he stroked her tongue with his, tasted her lips, feasted on her, the breaking glass ringing in their ears.
"Another," she urged him. One after the other, saucers and cups sailed through the air, crashing hard against the wall, until the box was empty and the concrete in the center of the barn was a rainbow of colored chips. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of perspiration, and all he could think about was licking off the salt, reveling in it.
He didn't think, didn't blink, before hauling her up against him and taking her mouth. She was all spice, sweet and hot. As strong as she was, in his arms she felt as petite and delicate as the china. She devoured him even as he consumed her. Her body heat singed his fingertips as he molded his hands to her waist.
No other woman made him lose himself so completely. The workshop doors stood wide, yet he didn't care. And he couldn't bring himself to heed the cautionary thought that it would be better to wait, to make sure that they weren't toxic to each other before they took this next step. There was only a hard ache inside him, an overwhelming desire to fit himself inside her.
He yanked a spaghetti strap down her arm, then molded her breast in his hand, roughly teasing the tip to a hard peak. She moaned into his mouth, a heady sound that played every chord in his body, vibrating through him.
Until today, he'd made himself take it slow. Made himself take care not to fall too far, too fast, too hard before he was totally sure their feelings for each other wouldn't be their mutual destruction.
But slow was completely impossible now.
His hand slid over her hip, his fingers tugged up the thin material of her dress, and her bare thigh singed his palm. Her kisses stole his breath and fogged his mind, while the heat of her skin made him completely crazy.
"Sebastian." Her eyes were drugged, her lips swollen, her hair framing her gorgeous face. If she'd stepped out of his arms, he'd have made himself let her go. But she molded her hand tightly over his on her breast, then dragged his head down for another intoxicating kiss. He stroked her tongue with his, caressed the hard nub beneath his fingers, and tested the flesh along the line of her barely-there thong, the temperature rising to steamy.
He needed more. More. And he couldn't wait for it, knew he'd die if he didn't touch her. When she pushed the back of his head until his lips found her nipple, he knew she felt exactly the same way.
He kissed her, licked, sucked, savored. Her body vibrated with hot, sweaty need, and she moaned, her legs tight around him, her body arching along the ridge of his erection. One after the other, his brain fired off orders he was beyond desperate to obey.
Touch her.
Taste her.
Pleasure her.
He flipped up the hem of her enticing sundress and put his palm on her center, letting her heat seep into him. "Here." The one word was a whisper of need, a rasp of desire. "Now. I need to touch you, Charlie."
He had never needed before, not like this, beyond the physical, deep into emotional territory. He truly felt as though he would die if he lost her. He'd never had such a thought about another woman, only Charlie. She was to die for.
Before the semi-destructive thought could paralyze him, she put her lips to his and hummed a hot little pleasure sound deep in her throat. "Here. Now. Touch me."
Less than a heartbeat later, he was sinking his finger into her wet heat. She was so ready, her body quivering. He took her lips again, kissing her hard, delving deep, while he played over her arousal. Her hands roamed up and down his arms, cupping his face, into his hair, while her boots scraped the backs of his thighs restlessly. Panting, biting her lip, she looked up at him and he saw that a flush had turned her cheeks pink and her pupils were dilated.
He leaned closer, his reflection in her gaze, and filled her with his fingers. Hard, fast, he took her until her head fell back, her hair cascading across the bench. She gasped twice, then cried out, her body tightening, releasing. The perfume of her climax enveloped him as a full body flush turned her skin hot.
"Oh, God. Sebastian."