Page 13 of The Burn List
4
Lukas
IringAbby’s doorbell at eight sharp. Not wanting to think about my relief that she hasn’t backed out as I’d half expected. I jingle my keys in the pocket of my black dress pants while I wait, way more excited to go out with Abby than I should be.
But, to hell with it, I stopped caring about her being my neighbor about thirty seconds into her email. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
The door swings open and my jaw unhinges.
Holy fuck!Who the hell is this woman in front of me? And why the hell had I missed how pretty she is?
Once again I shake my head at being such an idiot.
A tumble of golden-brown waves fall to her shoulders in a wild tousle, highlighting high cheekbones and full lips. Smoky makeup and thick, sooty lashes make her big brown eyes exotic and fathomless, instead of plain.
As requested, she’s wearing a mid-thigh, black, V-necked sleeveless dress so tight it may as well be painted on. The dress reveals those killer curves; so lush I want to sink into them for days. Not to mention her breasts, Jesus, they are enough to make a man break into a sweat. She’s completed the outfit with a pair of stiletto heels, accentuating a set of endless legs.
As I stare at her, dumbfounded, I don’t understand one thing about her. Most women would flaunt that body for everything it’s worth, so why does she insist on hiding behind that librarian exterior? I’m almost positive there’s a story there, and I intend on getting to the bottom of it.
But back to the subject at hand.
“Very nice, Abby.” The words are woefully inadequate. “Aren’t you a good girl following my instructions?”
A blush stains those pretty cheeks and she flashes a too-bright smile. “Um,” she says, her gaze darting on and off me like a skittish fawn ready to bolt. “Let me grab my purse.”
That won’t do at all. I have business to attend to.
“Wait a minute.” I step through the door and shut it behind me.
Her throat works and she blinks up at me. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Wanting her aware of what she’s getting into, I slide my hands around her waist and pull her close, aligning our hips so she can feel my erection.
Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Oh.”
Excellent.
It’s time to give her a taste of what it’s like for a man to take control, to give her something to think about over dinner. I’m well aware women with her proclivities get aroused by stewing, and I’m going to give her plenty to think about. Before she can give thought to running, I capture her mouth with a hot, demanding sweep of my tongue.
A nicer guy would deliver a soft, exploratory kiss to put her at ease. A nicer guy would have waited until after dinner.
But when it comes to sex, I’m not a nice guy.
And based on Abby’s list, the last thing she needs is polite.
I skim my fingers along her back, pausing to stroke the bare skin of her shoulder blades before continuing upward to grasp her neck. Her lips open under mine, and I tighten my hold on her waist to anchor her in place, taking full possession.
She melts into me, wrapping around me like a snake. Her tongue tangles with mine. Delicate fingers climb up my chest to clench the fabric of my white shirt as she rises onto tiptoes.
I kiss her harder. Deeper.
She squirms and shimmies under me until she finds my straining erection.
And just like that she sweeps the rug right out from under me.
With a moan, I walk her backward until she hits a wall. Lost in the taste of her, I kick her legs apart and slide my hands down her body, stroking one thigh. In perfect sync, she hooks her leg over my hip as my fingers curl around her knee. Her dress rides high, stretching to accommodate me as the head of my cock nudges between her legs. Covered by only thin panties I can feel her heat, smell her desire.
She rocks against me.
