Page 42 of Dangerous Passion

He was big and right now he was as excited as he’d ever been in his life. His size was a problem for women who fucked constantly. The heated images in his head—holding her down with his hands while he fucked her as hard as he could—were crazy. He couldn’t do that with Grace. He’d scare her, maybe hurt her. God.

Something of what he was feeling must have communicated itself to her. Her color rose, beautiful blue-green eyes shiny, watchful.

He had to go slow. Be careful. Be in control.

For a second the notion that he had to tell himself to be in control was so alien, he nearly snorted. He was nothingbutcontrol.

His finger moved down her cheek, over the delicate jawline, running along the vein pulsing in her neck. He lifted his eyes to hers, finger poised to go lower.

“I want to touch you,” he whispered. “So badly.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

The finger hovered over her collarbone. He kept it steady only by applying the full force of his will, but the cost of that was that his entire body trembled, vibrated like a tuning fork.

He touched the soft silk of his pajama top. It was much too large for her and he could see pale skin bared where the material ballooned out. His eyes asked the question.

In answer, Grace arched, bringing her breasts close to his hand, baring that long, slender white neck.

Which to touch first? Both intriguing, impossible to resist.

Drake’s mouth settled on her neck while his hand slipped under the soft silk to her even softer, silkier breast. Grace let out a long, shaky breath.

Drake would have, too, but he was too excited to breathe. Too excited to do anything but cup her breast as he licked her, feeling the pounding pulse of her blood on his tongue, speeding up when he circled her nipple with his thumb. Ah, God. Giving into temptation, he scraped his teeth along that smooth, smooth skin, then gave a little nip, of excitement, ofownership.

Grace jolted.

He hadn’t hurt her, but he lifted his head to check just the same. No, he hadn’t hurt her, but he had excited her. Color bloomed in her cheeks, along her neck.

Down to her breasts? He had to know.

His hand hovered over her and touched the top button of her pajamas. Moving his arm hurt his shoulder a little and he welcomed the pain, the bite of it. It grounded him just a little, helped to keep his excitement from raging out of control.

“I want to see you, Grace. Will you let me?”

She let out a little huff of air. “I—ah, I seem to be having some trouble in saying no to you.”

He felt a slow smile well up from somewhere inside him, though he wasn’t normally a smiler. “Well the answer to that is obvious. Don’t say no.”

“That could get a little dangerous.”

“No, never.” The smile disappeared. “I don’t want you frightened of me, in any way. You can say no any time you want, though I’m hoping you won’t.”

Grace shook her head, hair rasping on the pillow. “I mean dangerous in that you—you make me feel things I haven’t felt before. I don’t feel in control of myself.”

That makes two of us, he thought.

He unbuttoned the top button. “Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

To his astonishment, she did. Eyes wide, voice halting, she told him exactly what she was feeling, with an honesty that stole his breath.

“Where you touch me—I burn, Drake. Only burning isn’t really the right word because it’s not painful, not at all. It’s pure pleasure.”

The top button came undone, the second, the third … finally he had the pajama top open, revealing a strip of pale skin that was rapidly turning rosy. Drake wanted to watch her eyes, but he wanted to watch his hand touching her more. “And this?” he breathed as he folded back the heavy silk, revealing a pale, perfect breast. The back of his hand had touched her chest as he unbuttoned the top, but now he turned his hand to cup her. She fit in the palm of his hand, perfectly.

Perfect. She was just perfect. And real. What he was cupping was pure woman, not some artificial sac of liquid just under the skin. He hated that so much he ended up passing on the women who’d had their breasts enhanced surgically.

And why should she want to enhance something already perfect, anyway? His eyes greedily drank in every detail. The tender undercurve, the milky blue veins barely visible under the skin, the pale pink aureole, the nipples turning harder as he watched, a bright red cherry color.

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