“Tell you?” he repeated, his voice rough and uneven, as if he wanted to hold back but couldn’t. “Tell you how I want to strip you bare? How I want your breasts to fill my hands, your nipples pinched between my fingertips until you cry out in pleasure and in pain?”
I shuddered, my nipples tightening simply from the promise of his words.
“Or should I tell you how I want to feel the sting of my bare hand on your naked ass until your cheeks are red and your cunt glistens.” He leaned in closer, his whisper ragged at my ear. “I want you naked, Angie. Naked and bound and wet for me. I want your legs wide and your body exposed. I want to see you. Hell, I want to feast on you. I want my mouth on you, my tongue driving you mad. I don’t want you to know a goddamn thing except me and the pleasure I bring you. And I want to watch the way your eyes go bright when I finally let you come.”
I was breathing hard, my panties soaked, my thighs damp and trembling. His words shocked me, yes. But they also turned me on.
I leaned back, increasing the distance between us infinitesimally, but only because I had no choice. It was either find support against the rough brick wall or collapse to the ground, my body no longer quite able to hold me upright.
The second I edged back though, a shadow crossed his face. “Like I said, I’m an asshole.”
Despite the fact that he’d completely undone me—despite the fact that every bone, muscle, and tendon in my body had turned to jelly—I somehow managed the smallest shake of my head and the tiniest noise. “No.”
I drew in a gasping breath, then said more forcefully, “No. I’m not running. I’m not going anywhere.” I licked my suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the ground, embarrassment overtaking me. But not enough to cripple me. Not even close.
Traffic rushed by at the end of the alley and the pulse of music filtered through the thick walls of the club. None of that noise penetrated, though. The alley seemed still and quiet, as if the world had quit turning and everything—my existence, Evan’s, the whole damn universe—was stuck in limbo until I spoke again.
I steeled my shoulders. “Everything you just said … I—I want it, too.”
My cheeks were so hot I was certain they must be flashing as red as neon, and I kept my eyes down, afraid that if I looked up and saw him I might spontaneously combust.
“Angie. Oh, Jesus, Angie.” He took my head in his hands, his fingers sliding into my thick tangle of hair as he tilted my face up to see his. “You completely unwind me.” There was such intensity in his voice that it sounded almost painful, and the tenor of his desire shook me to the core. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this.” The words were rough and urgent. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I want you,” I said, the words sounding inadequate against the complexity of the emotions behind them.
For a moment, he held my gaze, as if he was searching my face for some sort of deception. I didn’t flinch. I knew what he saw in me—himself, reflected right back.
He stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, the sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast to the rawness of all the things he’d said he wanted to do with me. But somehow, that simple touch made me melt even more.
He was everything I’d ever wanted. Everything I needed. Hell, he was more than I could have imagined. And in that moment, I knew I would do anything to keep him there with me.
“I want you,” I repeated. “I want this.”
“This?” he repeated, then leaned in to brush a trail of feather-soft kisses down my neck, then along my collarbone. His touch was lighter than air, and yet it pounded through me like the steady, rhythmic thrum of a bass drum building to a crescendo.
“Or maybe this?” He ran his hands down my arms, then twined our fingers together. He pressed his body tight against me as his mouth sought mine, his tongue demanding entrance as he thrust our arms out to the side as if readying to take flight. He deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, delighting me with his teeth, nibbling on my lips. And as he did, he slowly maneuvered our arms up until mine were completely above my head and he gently released his fingers from mine. “Or maybe this is what you want,” he said, manipulating my hands so that I was clutching my own wrist above my head.
“Evan, I—”
“No.” He brushed his lips over my ear, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. “No talking. No moving. The arms stay up, the hands together. Nod if you understand me.”
I licked my lips.
“Nod,” he repeated.
I nodded, so lost in him that if he’d told me to strip naked and spread my legs right then, I think I would have done it, and eagerly. I was that much in thrall to him.
Yeah, he was dangerous all right—but damn me, it was that danger that I craved.
“Good girl,” he said, then brushed the gentlest of kisses over my lips. “And I think we’ve found what you want,” he added, closing his hands over mine.
I drew in a shuddering breath, because he was right. He had me trapped—maybe not by reality, but by the promise of my own obedience. The result was the same. I was desperately, hopelessly turned on.
“You like this,” he said. “You’re open to me—open to the world. Down and dirty with me in an alley where anything could happen.” Once again, he leaned in to whisper. Once again, I was struck by how well he knew me. “This excites you, doesn’t it? Not knowing where we’re going next. What’s going to happen. Who might turn that corner. Not knowing if I’m going to kiss you or fuck you.” He paused, and his next words made me moan aloud. “I’ll give you a hint, Angie. I’m going to do both.”