44
The amountof self-control Zeke had left could fill a rain drop. He forced himself to stand still and allow Liv to look her fill.
Admiration flared in her eyes and her lips parted, making the long hours he spent in the gym worthwhile. But when she reached out again to set those wicked fingers on his bare flesh, his control snapped.
“Liv.” He tried for a normal tone, but her name emerged on a low, feral growl.
Her hand halted, and she lifted desire-filled eyes up to his. She blinked hard, once, twice, before concern knit her brows.
“Playtime is over.” He forced the words between his teeth. “For this round.”
Concern gave way to a slow, nefarious smile. “Don’t you want me to undress?”
“Hell, yeah.”
For days, he’d imagined her naked in his bed, naked in his shower, naked on his desk, naked. . . everywhere. If he put his hands on her now, he would be too rough, too primitive in his need for her.
Grasping the edge of her T-shirt, she drew the thin cotton material, inch by fucking slow inch, up her torso and over her head. The baby blue scrap dropped between them. A line in the sand.
With her head tilted slightly to the right, she gave him a sidelong glance, all but daring him to cross the cotton divide.
“You’re toying with danger, Agent Westcott.”
Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pajama bottoms, though she made no move to remove them.
At his sides, his fingers curled to keep him from yanking her into his arms.
“Danger,” her voice husky, “is exactly what I’m looking for tonight.”
His mind splintered. There was before, when he heard Gram’s voice gnawing at him to treat women with respect, to be a gentleman. And after, when the silent animal in him uncoiled and urged him to give her what she wanted. What he wanted.
“Take them off.”
She didn’t flinch away from the fire in his voice, as he’d expected. Instead, excitement flared in her eyes.
“These?” she taunted, her thumbs gliding along the rim of her waistband.
“If you want them to remain in one piece, remove them now, or I’ll be happy to rip them off.”
Interest whirled across her features, yet the practical side must have decided to protect her sleepwear. She pushed them down, along with her panties. First one hip, then the next, her eyes never leaving his. Over and over until her PJs drooped around her ankles.
By the time her foot flicked them to the side, Zeke realized he’d misread her. Practical had nothing to do with her choice.
Strategy drove her every action. She understood either intellectually or instinctually the best way to drive him out of his ever-loving mind, to slam a mental door on his family, the business, and the sword, to live in this moment—with her—was to capture his undivided, lust-induced attention.
Mission accomplished, agent.
He crossed the cotton divide.
Releasing her hair from its topknot, he speared his fingers through her silky locks and clamped his hand around the base of her head. He bent forward until his lips grazed her ear. “The rest, Liv.”
Her breath shuddered against his chest as she reached behind her to unfasten her bra. It slid down her arms before joining the shipwreck of clothing on the floor.
Curling his other hand around her hip, he added pressure until her body was flush against his. Every nerve ending tingled and writhed beneath his skin. Sandwiched between them, his cock pulsed and stretched, seeking her internal warmth.
Her homecoming.
Wrapping her arms around him, she smoothed her cheek against his pec like a kitten rubbing its soft head against its human’s palm. Her nails raked and soothed, raked and soothed along his spine.