Rogue(7)

By: Katy Evans



“Want to go somewhere with me?” he asks, then reaches out with his free wet black glove to brush my hair back behind my ear.

What I feel is so far beyond lust, I can hardly answer him.

I tremble. “Yes,” I say, dizzied with want.

He gives me a smile that sends my pulse racing, his hand lingering on my face for a second longer, then he shifts my car into gear and pulls us into the rainy streets. The air between us crackles in the silence.

The only audible sound outside is the rain and thunder. The inside of the car is dominated by his breathing. His breaths are deep and slow, but mine are fast and nervous.

He smells . . . like a wet forest. With a touch of leather. His eyes are on the road, but I’m only aware of him. The way his chest expands his wet T-shirt. His shadowed profile and how the city lights flicker across his face as we pass. His wet jeans clinging to his hard thighs. I think we both know we’re going to do it.

We’re going to have our hands all over each other in minutes, and the knowledge is causing havoc in my brain. I feel like some little sex gremlin in me has just emerged. I have a thing about man nipples and his man nipples are poking deliciously into his white T-shirt and his jeans are . . . god, his jeans are straining to the breaking point. He wants me. He wants to do me. This amazingly beautiful man who makes me cross-eyed with wanting.

“You always this quiet?” he asks me in a strangely thick voice, and I jerk my eyes to his face; that smile on his face really gets to me.

“I’m s-su-suppper-super c-ccold.”

He signals to a tall hotel that I know is expensive even to dine at, but he doesn’t seem to mind pulling into its driveway. “Seems the closest place where we can get dry.”

“Yes, it’s perfect,” I say, too eagerly.

I’m into perfect things, beautiful things, things that are lively and fun. My parents as a couple? Perfect. I’m usually picture perfect myself. But tonight? I slide a hand down my hair as we cross the lobby and I can’t imagine what I look like. Wet rat seems like a good bet. Why why why do I look like shit right now?

While he asks for room keys at the front desk, I examine his butt in his jeans, the fit of his clothes, and I can’t seem to quell the flutters.

As I squish my way into the elevator along with a bunch of other people, I rub my arms and try to stop my teeth from chattering. He smiles at me across a couple, and his smile lights a spark of mischief in me and I smile back.

I follow him into the room and then into the huge marble bathroom. He takes his turtleneck from my cramped hand and hangs it aside, then, without warning, he reaches one hand to his T-shirt and pulls it off with one yank that makes all his muscles ripple. “Take off your shoes,” he murmurs. I unclasp them and kick them aside.

When I straighten, my breath almost chokes me when I see his bare chest. Corded arms, every possible muscle in existence marked. There’s a thin line of hair traveling down his navel into the waistband of his jeans. Ripped abs, thick throat, and those lips, kissable and beautiful lips. God. He has a scar—a big one on the left side of his ribs—and a wave of sympathy washes over me, then I notice he’s undressing me.

My pulse jumps in excitement and my nipples peak. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like that?” he asks with his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes, and I start trembling as he peels off my shirt.

On impulse I reach out and touch the scar on his chest with one finger. “What happened to you?”

He unzips my skirt and as he pulls it down, he leans over and catches my earlobe between his teeth and tugs playfully. “You know curiosity killed the cat, don’t you, little kitten?” he murmurs in my ear, urging my arms up so he can pull my shirt off.

I smile drunkenly and open my mouth to answer, and he kisses me. He takes me by surprise and I grab his shoulders to brace myself, shocked by my own responsiveness to his hot, silken, wild mouth. My own hunger unleashes in a torrent. His lips push mine open, hungry. I moan and bury my hands in his wet hair so he doesn’t stop kissing me, and I rock my hips as his tongue pushes inside. Shivers of desire race through me as he leans over me, eating me with his mouth as my head falls back and a noise of pleasure purls out of my throat.

Hot Read

Last Updated

Recommend

Top Books