Page 12 of A Lucky Shot

A heady rush washed away the last of her control, and she breathed, “Oh no.”

He released her instantly. “No? What is it, baby?”

Just that you’re making me lose my mind and I haven’t taken my clothes off yet. “Just a reflex,” she gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt he was holding down with his free hand. “Keep going.”

“If you say ‘no’ I’m stopping. I don’t play with consent.”

”You’ve got it. It’s yours. Just whatever you do, don’t stop.”

A look of pure hunger consumed his features, and he closed his hand over hers. “Are you saying you want me to keep going, even when you tell me to stop?”

One night. No reason to hold back. That was exactly what she was saying. She bit her lip and nodded. “Even when I tell you to stop.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked, almost to himself, and finally let her pull his shirt over his head.

Cass gasped. His long torso rippled with lean muscle, and he hissed out a breath as she ran her hands over the flat disks of his nipples. She pushed off the wall behind her to bring him closer again, and he teased her with a step back.

“Pick a safe word.”

Creative, funny, and respectful, in the kinkiest way possible? Cass felt like she had manifested her ideal man in one mouth-watering package. A laugh burbled from her lips. “I’ve never had one of those.”

“Boundaries now, play after. What if you say ‘don’t’?”

“I will say that at the exact wrong time,” she said, his belt buckle jangling and leather strap cracking as she whipped it through the loops.

“I’m not touching you until we can communicate.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I’d gag you, but I don’t know you well enough,” he murmured.

A spark shot through her nethers. Exploring a little light submission play with him? That sounded fun. Perhaps not their first time.

Only time.

“And then I wouldn’t be able to say the safe word that we can’t agree on. Maybe you just want to fight with me instead?” she said, batting his hands away long enough to pull her shirt over her head and pressing herself against his chest, where the swell of her boobs drew his eyes like a siren’s song.

The bustier was an unholy union of a bondage-style corset and a French maid outfit. Royal blue lace panels held together by thin satiny straps criss-crossing in a complex latticework. It had taken her weeks to get the design right.

Josh sucked in a breath. “Christ, woman. Do you always dress like you’re ready to slay dragons?”

The weeks she’d spent creating the art she was wearing had been worth it for this exact moment. Ego stroke, achieved.

“I like wearing beautiful things,” she said. “Do you feel slain?”

“Fully slain,” he said in a strangled voice, and his hands gravitated back to her breasts, thumbing her nipples in delicious circles, until he remembered he didn’t have what he needed yet and snatched his hands back.

“I can take it off.”

“Take it off. No, leave it on.” His gaze fell to her boobs again, and he raked his hands through his hair. “You’re killing me, beautiful.”

“Does it hurt? I could kiss it better.”

“Fuck, we need that safe word.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her neck. “How about ‘potato’?”

A peal of laughter erupted from her throat, and she felt his lips turn into a smile on her neck. “The thought of carbs will just make me hotter.”

“‘Potato’, it is.”

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