Page 77 of Reckless Vow

One that never came back for me, and is now taking care of me in the most confusing way.

My heels echo loudly in the room. God, why am I so nervous?

I’m about to have probably the best sex in my life, and I feel like there will be an exam to pass or fail after. Or before? Jesus.

Over the clicking sound of the sharp stiletto tips, my mind registers sultry music softening the charged air in the room.

When I’m sure that I can indeed walk gracefully, I look up, and my steps immediately falter.

I don’t know what I was expecting. That he would undress and wait on the sofa or on his bed?

But no.

Baldo stands in the middle of the room. His hands in the pockets of his jeans, he looks somehow larger, the confidence radiating from his casual stance. He’s sexy and composed. So dangerous.

His rolled-up sleeves are the only skin he’s showing. But even that is distracting, with all the ink, muscles and veins.

He smiles lazily. “Come here.”

It’s an order, and it spreads through my body like the best whiskey. Dizzying. Warm. A bit harsh.

I’ve always thought a man taking initiative was the way to go, but him passively standing there, making me bend to his wishes, is the hottest fucking thing ever. My stomach squeezes, speeding up my breathing.

Our eyes lock. His gaze is ravenous. Like I’m a goddess in his eyes.

That look is all I need to recall how to walk in heels. To remember I’ve been practicing burlesque for months now.

My midnight blue camisole barely covers my ass, and without my panties I feel quite exposed, but I walk to him with confidence and wanton grace.

It’s a subtle sparkle in his eyes that tells me he likes what he sees. What a reward and confidence boost.

“Hey,” he rasps when I stand in front of him.

“Hey yourself.” I smile.

Just feeling the heat radiating from him, his gaze boring into mine, my earlier anxiety eases. Tentative excitement takes its place.

I reach out to touch him, but he removes my hand gently. Okay, no touching yet, I guess.

Irritation flashes through me, but I squash it. I’ve agreed to let him lead, and I trust him.

But when he doesn’t move for what feels like hours, the sweet anticipation gives way to self-doubt. What is he waiting for?

I’m fighting the urge to fidget. Or hide. Or question him.

I distract myself by picturing how I would commit a murder. Not that I want to kill him. Not yet, anyway. Just escaping into the world of my fiction.

When he finally moves, it’s the calculated step of a predator circling his prey, and God help me if that doesn’t halt my breath. How him taking one step can ignite a wildfire within me is beyond me.

He’s so close now that I can’t breathe without brushing against him. My arm against his. My thigh. His thigh. My nipples. Shivers ripple through me, and he is still just standing there, studying me.

After what feels like another lifetime, he lowers his head to the side of my face. A shaky breath whooshes out of me. He hums at that, and then inhales, smelling my hair.

His hands remain in his pockets, and I’m about to explode from sheer anticipation. What the actual fuck?

“So pretty.”

The reverence in his voice is like an aphrodisiac. A potent one at that.

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