Page 52 of Jingle Belle's Biker

His hand isn’t tight. It’s warm. Firm. I think my pussy jumps with delight when he does it.

I can’t feel my feet. I’m on clouds or air.

He stares down into my eyes like he’s looking into my soul, and the hazel of his eyes is bright like burnished gold, a touch of wild green and browns. I could, as the poets say, lose myself in his eyes.

This man just might be dangerous.

In all the delicious ways.

He feathers his lips over mine, a gentle exploration. A taste, a tease. He slides one thigh between mine, pressing light against my clit and pussy. I moan, mouth parting of its own accord, and his tongue slips in. The slight tickle of his beard entices. What would it be like between my thighs, on my clit?

It’s been years since anyone went down on me.

A small whimper escapes, and he raises his head. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I . . .” No way am I telling him Lance never went down on me, that he didn’t like it. “You said this was a bad idea.”

“It is. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get off on bad ideas. Shit. I’m sorry it got fucking messy in the most stupid ass way the other night. I just didn’t expect you. And you to be so . . . you.”

My heart lurches at that as a wild warmth spreads through me. “I could pretend to take that in the wrong way.”

“Don’t, Red. I haven’t got my knitting needles sharpened yet.”

I groan, laughing. “Little do you know, I’ve a secret weapon in your cat.”

“He’s not—” He stops. “That fucking cat does what it wants. He brought me a mouse earlier.”

“Adorable.”

“A dead mouse.”

“What kind of cat would he be if it was alive?”

He kisses my throat. “It was missing a head.”

“He’s a good cat.” My words are breathy and the world swims. He could be saying anything, hell, I could be saying anything. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that I want more.

Saint strokes my hair from my face and tilts it up. “What do you want to do, Red?”

“I . . .”

There are visions in my head. Visions of him taking me and doing to me what he wants. Of him being some kind of man from another world, another life, one who knows what he wants and takes it, one who doesn’t ask he tells, who wouldn’t take no for an answer if a woman dared to say it.

That’s all fantasy. I’m aware of that. But I want him to take control.

“The hallways not gonna do it, Belle. I think you want me as much as I want you. Got a feeling those nipples are hard for me, and if I put my hand between your thighs to touch that hot furnace on my thigh, it’d be wet and waiting, but . . . I meant your place or mine.”

I look at him. “That wasn’t a get-out-of-jail card?”

“Fuck no.” He looks so fierce that when his mouth twists up, and he adds, “Maybe.” I giggle.

“Not the response I hoped for, Red.”

“Not the answer I thought you’d give, Saint.” I cock my head. Answer? Statement? I’m?—”

He silences me with a fierce kiss. “I’m not a fucking caveman.”

“Damn.”

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