Page 75 of Reckless King

I imagine him peeling my swimsuit off my body, his mouth on my breasts. His hands on my hips as he lifts me up and sets me on the side of the pool so he can spread my legs and taste me.

But as much as I want to, I can’t make myself do it. This thing with Tate is temporary, but if I’m not careful, it could very easily leave a permanent scar on my heart.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want, Violet.” His thumb smooths over my jaw and he holds my gaze, his head tilting toward me. “Until you say yes, you have control here. Remember that. But when you do say yes—and you will,” his voice drips with confidence, “then you give control to me. Okay?”

I suck in a shaky breath and nod. I don’t know what he means by that, but it sounds a little too appealing.

He backs up a little, giving me space to take in more than the short, shallow inhales I have been. Then he settles beside me with his back against the side, looking out over the surrounding high-rises.

I’m still going over his words when he asks, “When’s your first tasting night?” His tone and his posture are the epitome of casual, as if we didn’t just talk about the conditions under which he’s going to have his way with me.

It takes me a moment to recalibrate, to remind myself that I should be focused on the coffee shop and our endgame here. “Next month. We’ve been slowly building up our customer base. We’re giving out free coffees now, as more customers are comingback. I think the amount of business we’re doing has grown enough to justify hosting a special event.”

“Can I come?” he asks.

I shoot him a startled look. “Oh, of course you can come. I didn’t think you’d want to, but since none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for you, then you’re absolutely welcome to be there.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Violet. All I’ve given you is time and space to breathe. The rest is all you.”

My traitorous heart flutters once more, forcing me to run through the increasingly short list of reasons sleeping with Tate is a bad idea.

I keep my composure through our conversation about the tasting night, and he asks question after question until the beep of his phone interrupts us. He pulls himself out of the water the way he did last night, all rippling muscles and bulging biceps, and picks it up from where he left it on one of the deck chairs. He reads the message and smiles. It doesn’t look like the kind of smile I imagine any man would make when reading a work message.

That thought causes jealousy to prick at my insides. Is it a woman? I grit my teeth and force myself to look back out at the view. It’s none of my business. He said he wouldn’t humiliate me by being with another woman during our relationship, and he’s never given me any reason not to trust his word.

Though if I really want to read into my feelings, I’d admit to myself that what weighs on me the most is the thought that while he’s saying all these things to me, the sweet things, the dirty things, he might be saying them to someone else too.

“Come on, butterfly. Time to get out.”

Rubbing at the ache in my chest, I turn toward his voice. He’s standing at the edge of the pool, holding his hand out for me. Iextend my arm, and in one fluid motion, he grasps my wrist and pulls me up out of the water. One handed.

Why is that feat of strength such a damn turn-on? Every time I have myself convinced I can remain unaffected, he makes the smallest gestures look sexy as hell. I stumble a little getting my feet underneath me, and he catches me under the arms. Our wet bodies press together so I can feel every hard line and angle of him against me.

My hands landed on his chest as I wobbled, and before I can stop myself, I’m giving in to temptation and tracing lines over his smooth, water-cooled skin, reveling in the feel of him under my fingertips. The ridge of his erection presses against my abdomen, sending arousal curling through me. My nipples are tight and sensitive, and god, I so badly want to rub myself against him. I want to rip his swim shorts off and drop to my knees and see for myself just how big he is. I must whimper, because suddenly, his hands are in my hair and he’s tilting my head back. My lips part, and I’m so ready for him to kiss me.

His eyes are ablaze as he searches my face, from my eyes down to my mouth and back up again. With a groan, he lets me go and steps back. I’m left feeling nothing but cool air against my flushed skin.

He pushes his hands through his wet hair. “You need to get dressed,” he says. “You have an appointment.”

I shake my head, disregarding the comment about an appointment I have no recollection of scheduling. All I can think is that, with all his talk of wanting me, he seems to have no problem pushing me away when I practically offer myself to him on a platter. I gather up my tattered dignity and hold tight to it, telling myself once more that just because Tate likes to play, doesn’t mean there’s anything more to it than that.

He snags one of the two towels stacked on the table and hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze.

We dry ourselves off in silence, then I follow him into the house.

“Where am I going, and what should I wear?” My voice sounds flat to my own ears, and I give myself a mental slap. This is the very reason I didn’t want things to get physical between us. And yet, even without that having happened, I still keep slipping.

I pull myself together. I’m stronger than this. I know I am.

“You’re staying here, so dress casually.”

Equally annoyed by his vague answer and curious, I frown. “What’s the appointment for?”

The infuriating man only winks in response, and then he’s gone, sauntering into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

I wrinkle my nose and stick my tongue out, even though he can’t see me. Then I go into my own room, jump into the massive shower to rinse off, and throw on a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt, leaving my feet bare. Tate said casual, so that’s what he’s getting.

---