Page 42 of Desperate Desires

Or maybe it was simply because I had no other choice.

I mean, fuck, but she had some walk, swaying that fine ass of hers as she got further and further away from me.

It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull and it only took me three seconds to start following.

I pushed through the crowd, growling at everyone who glanced in her direction.

The woman had all my attention.

She was like a dream.

A dark-skinned beauty of a dream with eyes glittering like volcanic glass in the darkness of the club.

This woman was my kryptonite.

A siren leading me to ruin.

But I would be a liar if I didn’t admit I looked forward to it.

It had only been a few days, but I was hooked.

I’d already memorized the feel of her skin, the taste of her passion. There was no other woman who captivated me like she did.

I noticed she changed her hair. When I’d stayed with her, she’d had it pulled back from her sweet face. Simple, effective, and still pretty.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Michelle wore it down.

Those tiny braids tumbled over her shoulders in a cascade of glossy dark curls. Tonight, she’d gone from good girl to goddess.

The sexy style made my fingers itch to touch her. I wanted to wrap her hair around my fist, to pull her head back and claim her lips as I fucked her from behind.

I wanted to drag her to me, to hide her from prying eyes. I was a greedy motherfucker, and I didn’t like the fact that others had seen her looking so fucking good tonight.

I growled, whether willing my cock or my ire to calm the fuck down. But both were riled, and it was an impossible feat to back down now.

Her soft curves were outlined in that fucking outfit, and I wanted to rip it off her. To burn it so she could never wear it again. Or keep it locked in my closet so she could wear it only for me on special occasions.

Fuck, I liked that idea.

I was suddenly taken with the desire to drape her in silk. To dress her in sexy see-through negligées, lace teddies, and satin thongs. Soft, shimmery wisps of fabric that would feel incredible against her skin and my hands.

I wanted all of that and more. Truth was I never felt this way about anyone. Never seen or touched anything like her.

“Wait a second, Doc. I’m not done talking to you,” I growled, my voice husky with want.

“Yeah? Well, you seemed done the other day when you walked out without telling me.”

“It wasn’t like that?—”

“Really? Cause I was there. You left. No note. No text. No nothing,” she replied, keeping her pretty face forward, like I held no interest for her at all.

If it wasn’t for years of honing my observation skills, I’d have thought she was seriously done with me.

I might have missed the jumping pulse at her neck, and the slight catch of her breath when our eyes met.

But I didn’t miss either of those things.

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