“Why not?” His satisfied smile borders on cruel. “Does it get you wet, my sweet girl, hearing what I want to do to you?”
Jumping to my feet, I push the chair back, the legs scraping across the floor, and open my mouth to issue another useless protest. Before I get a word out, an ear-splitting rumble shakes the ground.
“Saved by the thunder,” he says, irritation soaking his words. He stands, drawn features cast in shadow from the sun’s exit. “Guess we’ll take it as a sign to shelve this conversation for another day.”
“No,” I say, folding my arms. “Let’s air this out now.”
What am I doing? Why am I prodding him when we’re both struggling to keep our cool under heightened senses? I’m begging for trouble, but as he rounds the table, I can’t bring myself to back down.
“Let’s air it out, then.” He invades my space without touching me. “What do you want from me?”
His simple, straightforward question catches me off-guard, and I regurgitate my favorite vague cop-out. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. You do know. You’re just too scared to admit it.”
I shake my head, denying, though the lie won’t leave my mouth. He dips his head, dark eyes searching my face, and suddenly, I’m fixated on his lips. Awareness sizzles in the space between us, crackling stronger than the storm.
“If you’re going to kiss me,” he says, his breaths soughing louder than the thunder, “be sure you mean it, because once I taste you, there isn’t a damn thing in this universe that will stop me.”
He won’t stop.
A shudder travels down my legs, making me slump against him. I clutch his shirt as he wraps his arms around me, keeping me steady, protected, warm. I try to convince myself the shudder was one of dread and not a delicious thrill of excitement at the thought of his mouth on me.
But I can’t.
Surrender is the only path forward, just like my defeat in our last game of chess on the beach.
That was days ago, but suddenly, it feels like hours.
And my resistance is gone.
Licking my lips, I lift my face to his. “Kiss me.”
A moment passes, and then he lets out a shaky exhale. Cradling my cheeks, he brings his mouth down on mine, his lips unmoving—a bold test of my willpower.
I said the words, but it’s not enough for him. He wants me to make the first move, to be sure. To want him without reservation. It’s the only logical explanation for his lack of take-control authority. The Liam Castle I know wouldn’t wait for me to give him what he wants.
He’d take it.
But he’s not taking it, and I’m ashamed to discover that I desperately want him to. If he pushed just a little harder, maybe it would assuage the guilt.
“Please.” I part my mouth under his patient lips, and a small sigh escapes. A whimpering plea.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“Please, Liam. Kiss me.”
With a groan, he lifts me onto the table and settles between my knees. “You’re sure?”
I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull, needing his lips closer. “As sure as I can be.”
“What if a kiss isn’t enough for me?”
Heat flares on my cheeks, spreading swiftly down my neck. I avert my gaze, flailing on the border between fight and flight. “What do you want?”
His hand settles on my thigh, fingers teasing under the hem of my dress. “I want to feel your little virgin pussy.” Quickening breaths fan over my bare shoulder, and then his mouth stalls at my ear. “Hot, tight, and silky wet, Novalee—like a fucking glove made for my fingers.”
Another delicious shudder tears through my limbs. With a near-silent groan, I tighten my thighs around his waist, my toes curling with desperate, aching need. I can’t speak, can hardly breathe. Every nerve ending comes alive at the sound of his gruff tone.
He squeezes my flesh. “Do you want it, my sweet girl?”
God help me, I do. Conscious thought shatters as I lean back on my elbows, and the splay of my thighs invites him to turn words into reality. His hand disappears under my skirt, slips beneath the edge of my panties, and those warm, deft fingers thrust into me.
The fit is snug, his technique experienced, and he wastes no time in making me cry out a litany of pleas for more. Riding his hand, I moan his name.
“Damn, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He pushes forward until the barrier of my innocence halts those fingers. Innocence in name only, because I’m wanton and without shame, spread out on the table as he plunges his fingers into me over and over again.
“God, Novalee,” he breathes. “I need you.” Lowering his head, he scrapes his teeth over my right nipple through thin, soft cotton. “Let me be the one to love you.” He adds another finger, gifting an exquisite sensation of fullness I’ve never experienced there before.