Even looking at him, I feel faint.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven.” The words slip out before I can stop myself.
He laughs. “Or I might torment the hell out of you, angel. And by morning, you’ll know every inch of the devil.”
Oh, pretty please…
“Got any objections?” He prowls toward me and lifts the strap of my purse from my shoulder, then sets it on the nearby dresser.
“No.” I shake my head. “None.”
“Good. I want you naked. And I want to hear your scream as you come for me.”
His words make me hot all over. But I shiver and swallow back the assertion that he probably can’t make me come twice in one night. No man has ever managed to. Even my trusty battery-operated boyfriend struggles at times.
Suddenly, I don’t doubt this stranger. I’m convinced he can melt me, make me putty in his big hands, and manipulate my body to do whatever he wants.
“I’m going to take your blouse off,” he mutters as he skates a hand up my torso and skims his knuckles against the side of my breast before zipping his thumb across the taut crest.
Sensation zings through my body. I suck in a sharp breath. My nipples have never been particularly sensitive. But for him? One touch, and I’m ready to beg.
What else is this stranger going to be able to do to me before the sun comes up? I don’t know, but I have a feeling it will change my entire concept of sex.
Chapter Two
Quint
I can’t stop staring at Calla’s exquisite face. Regardless of what she says, she’s an angel, and it’s taking every bit of my will not to ravage her where she stands. If she doesn’t open her tempting, red-painted lips and say something soon, I’m going to grind my teeth into goddamn dust. Or toss her on the bed, root deep inside her, and keep at her until she cries her throat raw.
“Calla?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please. Take it off.”
Thank fuck.
Less than thirty minutes ago, I headed into the bar for a much-needed drink, but I stayed for her. To stare at her. To talk to her. To touch her. I didn’t think she’d actually agree to let me fuck her. Sure, I said that sex would calm me, but being near her only revs my libido. I feel like a rabid dog jerking against its chain. My need to consume this delicious panting morsel of female is bordering on dangerous.
There’s something about her I can’t walk away from.
I drop my hands to the winking pearl buttons down the front of her blouse, taunting me. One by one, I unfasten them, never taking my eyes off her. It’s gratifying as hell to hear her breathing pick up, see her cheeks flush, and watch her pulse pound at her neck. I don’t know who she’s been to bed with in the past, but I’m determined to make her forget every one of those bastards. I don’t know why. The urge is completely irrational. But if I put all my focus into making her scream for me all night, maybe I’ll forget—at least for a while—that my dad is stubbornly set on making the biggest mistake of his life tomorrow.
And maybe I’ll be the best fuck she’s ever had. Maybe she’ll never forget me.
I unmoor the last button at the bottom of her white blouse and push the garment off her shoulders. She’s wearing a sensible tan-colored bra. No lace. No embellishments. The size of her breasts is average, which is fine because, first, I’m an ass-man. And second, nothing about the rest of her seems average at all. Her skin is like velvet. The lines of her body are lithe, almost graceful. I’m craving the chance to explore her.
“Lose the shoes and skirt,” I demand.
She bites her lip and kicks off her heels as I head to the floor-to-ceiling window and draw the sheers beneath the black-out drapes. I have a sick view of the Strip, which is great. But I won’t allow some perv in one of the nearby towers to peek in and see what’s mine right now. On the other hand, I want to bathe Calla in light. I want to see her halo encircling her as I fuck her dirty and raw.
By the time I turn back, she’s stepped out of her skirt and draped it over my shirt on the back of the chair. Her panties match her bra—modest and practical—but her breathless stare threatens to strip away what little composure I have left.
I pad back across the room, reveling in the way her nipples get harder the closer I come. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” She frowns.
“Like you’re waiting for me to touch you.”
“But I am,” she murmurs, making me sizzle hot. “I’m just sorry I’m not wearing something sexy.”