Page 171 of Handsome Devil
He opened the door to the apartment and followed me through. “You flirt back, there’s too much of a chance of it getting out. People speculate. They start digging around.” He tore off his sweater like he was uncomfortably hot and dropped it on a chair. Then he looked at me expectantly. As if I had anything to say to that.
He meant it, of course. He wanted to protect his reputation.
But he hated the idea of me and Shane getting naked together, even in secret. And that part had nothing to do with public perception or gossip.
It was personal.
Instead of ripping into me about it any more, though, he went silent.
He went over to the bar cart in the living room and poured us both a drink. Red wine for me. Scotch for him. Then he went and sat down in the living room. There were some lights on around the apartment, but not right in that room. It was enough to see him clearly, but it was ominously dim.
He lounged back in a chair in front of the big windows, sipping his drink and looking at me.
I took my wine and walked over to him.
He wore a white T-shirt that hugged his chest nicely. And his wedding ring. That godawful class ring was long gone. My gaze drifted over him as I approached. He sat with his legs spread. It was impossible to miss the enormous erection in his jeans.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
His eyes wandered down my body, my purple knit dress. “Drinking.”
“And?”
He said nothing, just sipped his scotch.
“Are we about to have another fight?” I inquired, making sure I sounded sufficiently bored. I sipped my wine.
“What is it you want to fight about?” he said evenly.
“Nothing. Fighting implies that I give a crap. I fought you for my agency. I’ll fight you again if I need to. But there’s nothing to fight for here. I would like some clarity, though.”
“About what?”
I looked him over, my eyes lingering on his obvious hard-on. “Do you want me or do you hate me right now?”
“Both, I think,” he said, which surprised me. Despite the few sexual acts we’d already indulged in together, I didn’t think he’d admit to wanting me at all. “Do you want me? Or do you hate me?”
“I want you,” I admitted. “I hate you.” I sipped my wine. “I want to hate you.”
Dane stared at me for a long moment, and little tingles ran down my spine at that look in his eyes. Angry. Irritated. Aroused. Then he said, “Get down on your knees.”
I licked my lip. “Show me your dick first.”
He returned my gaze with a cold, penetrating look that made my nipples harden.
He set his drink aside on the table, then unzipped his jeans and peeled them open. He shoved down his underwear, showing me the monster between his legs.
So. Hard.
“Looks painful,” I noted. It did. Angry and swollen and seeping pre-come. “Is that mine?”
“Yes,” he growled. “Every angry inch of it.”
The heat that washed through my body at his words was not healthy. The pang of hunger between my legs, knowing he was angry with me right now, while his cock strained for action like that, was seriously twisted.
I wanted to suck that whole thing into my mouth while he swore and told me how fucking jealous he was tonight, and how he’d be the only one coming down my throat… until he did.
And just for a few moments, while he came, I wanted to look up into his eyes and see that cold facade melt away in heat.
