Page 53 of Daddy By Design

Something inside me said there’d be no silent with this man.

At least not on my end.

Was he the kind to groan? Or was all this stoic silence a precursor to the bedroom, as well? All those cords in his throat...

“Hellcat.”

My gaze zeroed on his mouth as I touched his lower lip, biting my own in response to the softness where so much of him was rough and resistant. “Tell me you haven’t wondered.” Would he taste like cinnamon? Would he burn my tongue with whatever it was he chewed or sucked on? “No harm, no foul. I’ll make an appointment right now and show you to the door.” I tore my attention away from his mouth to his eyes, which were currently trying to burn me alive. “Hopefully, you’ll still give me a chance to?—”

“I don’t fucking care about the house right at this second.”

I slid my knee between his legs as I rested my other hand on his chest. “Ever since that day I’ve wondered…” My fingertip teased his lip, the tip of my nail finding his lower teeth. “You always smell like cinnamon.”

He swallowed—hard—as his hands gripped the edge of the desk.

Was it wrong to want to break him? To make him touch me?

I’d never been so insanely attracted to such a contrary man.

I rose onto my toes, dragging the rayon material of my shirt against his ancient cotton. The slight friction made my nipples pulse, and his cinnamon scent urged me even closer. I nuzzled my cheek against his jaw and lifted my hand to his other cheek.

He flinched and I stilled as my thumb coasted over the jagged scar that cut down his cheek to his jaw.

“Just want to see what it’s like to touch a monster?” He gritted out.

Startled, I cupped his cheek and brought my other hand up to frame his face. “The only monster in this room is your shitty attitude most of the time.”

He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from the scarred side of his face. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I have lots of bad ideas. At least five of them include you, me, and lots of sweat. If you’re not into that part, then I’ll stop. But if it’s because of some complex?—”

“You talk too fucking much.” He twisted my arm behind me and dragged me flush against his chest and his mouth came down on mine.

No subtlety.

No easy first contact.

It was a full-on takeover.

Fiercely overpowering in a way that made my heartbeat careen out of control.

My free hand tangled in his hair as we vied for control. When his fingers laced with mine at my back, my breath hitched, and my heart jittered. Each callus and rough edge of his scarred hand abraded every finger as he held me so tightly in this one way. The rest of him was so separate from me.

Except that mouth.

God, he drank from me like I was that truly excellent wine he’d served me on that rainy night in his Airstream.

He owned every inch of my mouth. Tongue, teeth, and most of all, lips. Again and again, he stole my breath and my equilibrium.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, and I freaking wanted so much more of it.

He tore his lips away from mine, his midnight eyes blazing. “Fuck.”

I swayed a little, tripping into him. Off-balance from our tangled fingers behind my back. “Yes, please.”

“Jesus, Hellcat.”

“Dahlia.” I cupped the back of his head, trying to urge him back to where I wanted him.

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