Page 104 of Unwrapping Deviance

My tormentor lifts his head and peers into my face with eyes the deepest shade of night. “I’m getting so fucking addicted to you, Mira. You should run while I might still let you.”

“Shouldn’t you be running?” I let my gaze drop to his damp lips. “Don’t men usually run?”

His laugh is deep, dark ... twisted and I almost climax as the sound claws down my spine to pool at my core.

“The only time you’ll get me to run is if you try to get away. Then, I’ll be right behind you.”

Despite the voices in my head warning me not to get attached, I hear the idiot part of me giggle.

He grins, kisses me one last time before drawing back and taking my hand. His long fingers thread through mine.

Ice creams turn into a walk through a neatly marked path in the direction of a park and hike. The sign had been vague. Even Christian hadn’t known what a park and hike was. So, it made sense to follow the slow flow of pedestrians along the winding trail to a rolling expanse of green hills and clustered trees.

Turns out, it’s a park with a hiking trail cutting through. Neither of us is really dressed for the adventure, but we stop at the manmade lake and watch the ducks while finishing our ice creams.

“This is nice,” Christian remarks, watching a family nearby layout a picnic blanket. “Haven’t been to a park in years.”

“Me neither.”

I rub at the goosebumps along my arms and clustering up my thighs. The temperature by the water seems cooler, or maybeit was the ice cream, but I’m not wearing nearly enough, and I regret not grabbing a sweater.

“Cold?”

I wave his concern aside. “I’m fine.”

Ignoring my lie, Christian drags his t-shirt up over his head. He shakes it out once before dragging it down over my head.

In all honesty, the fabric is worn and thin, and the short sleeves don’t do much to keep the cool breeze at bay, but it’s warm from his body and holds the woodsy scent of wilderness and motor grease that I associate with Christian. What more, he’s now topless. A delicious sight of hard, toned muscles displaying an array of beautifully designed artwork I want so badly to explore ... with my tongue.

“Aren’t you cold?” I ask him, shoving my arms through the sleeves.

He shakes his head. “I’ve always tended to run on the hotter side.”

He certainly does that, but I keep the thought to myself.

“Thank you.”

His response is the slip of his arm across the back of the bench. His fingers dance along the edge in a calm sort of motion. He wasn’t wrong about running warm, the heat coming off him almost has me curling into his side. I even scoot closer without crowding him, but he grabs my hip and drags me into him.

“Jesus!” he yelps when my fingers brush his naked side. “You’re freezing.”

Despite the truth behind the statement, I burst out laughing at the sheer horror on his face and deliberately dig my fingers into his ribs.

His immediate discomposure as he squeaks and leaps off the bench has me in tears.

I’m still howling uncontrollably when his hands close around me.

“No ... wait ... wait!” I wheeze, but he has me upside-down over his shoulder fireman style and is marching in some unknown direction I can’t see through the curtain of hair swinging over my face.

“Little brat!” I think I hear him mutter before I’m flipped down into his arms.

It takes the world a second to make sense as I blink at where he’s standing — at the lip of the lake. The realization of what he’s about to do has my arms snapping around his neck.

“Don’t you dare!” I squeal.

He gives me a mocking jerk like he’s about to chuck me in only to laugh when I scream and cling harder to him.

We’re both still grinning and chuckling when our eyes lock. The afternoon light warms his to a light gold that reminds me of a poster I saw once of a desert. They gleam with silent laughter that softens all the hardness in his desires.

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