Page 6 of Craving Dahlia

I’d also bet that it’s high time one did.

“I—” She stares at me, and I lean back, sprawling slightly in the wingback chair as I set the crystal glass of Scotch—now empty—aside. I look at her from where I’m sitting, as casually as if I’m not starving for the taste of her on my tongue, and I see her gaze flick down to where the thick ridge of my erection is pressing obviously against the front of my jeans. Her eyes dart to the tattoos on my hands, at my neck, sliding all the way up to where, now that I’m no longer carefully hiding it in the shadows, she can see the long scar that runs down one side of my face. It skims from the corner of my hairline, just past my eye, over my cheekbone and down to the edge of my jaw. It’s deep and slightly jagged, made by the sharply honed blade of a large hunting knife.

I was trussed up like a deer and threatened with being skinned like one. But Dahlia’s eyes, as they land on the scar, only heat further.

She wants the danger. The roughness. She wants something only a beast of a man can provide. And tonight, I’m happy to give it to her.

“Get your coat,gertsoginya,” I tell her. “Tell your friend you’re leaving with me. You have five minutes.”

Her eyes spark with that hint of fire again. “Or?” she challenges, and I chuckle darkly, wishing there was still some Scotch in the glass. It’s taking everything in me not to throw herover my shoulder, or worse still, tell her just how deeply I need this. But if there’s one thing I’ll never show a woman again, it’s weakness of any kind.

I shrug. “Then I’ll find someone else with a pretty face and a wet pussy.”

Her creamy skin blushes deeper. Her eyes snap with the urge to bite back, but I see her thighs squeeze together, and I know she’s not going to tell me no. Desire vibrates through me, hot and urgent, but I don’t let it show. I keep my face blank, utterly devoid of emotion. Ofanything.

I’ve learned how to do that very well, over the years.

Dahlia stands up smoothly from the chair, snapping her mouth shut as her eyes sweep over me, too. For one brief moment, I think that maybe I’ve misjudged her after all. That maybe she is more offended than she is horny, and she’s going to walk away.

If that’s the case, though, she wouldn’t be able to take what I have planned for her, and it’s for the best.

Her eyes flick to my scar again. “Five minutes,” she says crisply, and then she turns on that red-soled heel, stalking back towards the lithe brunette who is still lounging on the antique sofa across the room, watching our conversation with the amusement of someone enjoying a sport.

In two minutes, Dahlia is walking back towards me, her blazer draped over her arm and her hips swinging in that short leather skirt.

She tosses her hair back, her gaze sweeping over me as if she’s regained enough confidence to once again think thatshe’sthe one in control.

Which is fine. She’ll lose that notion soon enough. And I’ll enjoy every minute of it.

I stand up smoothly, crossing the space between us in two strides. “Should we go back to your apartment or my hotel?” Iask her, and Dahlia bites her lip. I want to grip her chin between my fingers, lean in, and bite it instead.

“My apartment,” she says decisively. “That way you can leave when we’re done,” she adds, a touch of bravado in her voice, and I chuckle.

“It’s going to be a long time before we’re done,dorogoy.”

I see her throat tighten as she swallows, and my chest aches with how badly I need to touch her. It feels like a cramping hunger, a need that I can’t hold back much longer, and I step forward, my hand moving to brush against the small of her back as I turn her towards the stairs.

Just the pressure of my hand against the silk of her shirt makes my head swim with arousal.It’s been too fucking long.I hear the hitch in her breath too, though, and while I doubt it’s been anywhere near as long since she’s had a man in her bed, I can tell from every reaction that it’s been a long time since she’s been properly fucked.

Maybe no one has ever properly fucked her. But by the time I’m done with her…

She walks down the stairs in front of me, her heels clicking against the wood, and I never take my eyes off of her for even a second. The swing of her blonde hair against her shoulders, begging me to wrap it around her fist, the slim curve of her waist that’s perfect for my hands, the shape of her ass beneath the leather skirt—all of it arouses me to the point of pain, and by the time we reach the hallway that leads outside, I’m gritting my teeth against the urge to fuck her in an alleyway once we step out of it.

“I rode my motorcycle here.” I glance down at her skirt and heels. “But we’ll call an Uber.”

Dahlia gives me a sharp look. “We can take your bike,” she says, a glimmer of a smile on her lips. “I’d enjoy the experience.”

I look at her, a little disbelieving. “Are you sure?” I can’t imagine it’ll be comfortable for her. And something in my gut tightens at the thought of having her on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped around me, her breath warm against the nape of my neck. It’s too cold for a motorcycle anyway—I only took it because it’s the only ride I still had access to, and I welcomed the sharp bite of the air. Dahlia will freeze.

“Don’t think I can handle it?” She tips her chin up, that spark still in her eyes. “I can take anything you want to give me.”

Hot lust tears through me, and I step forward, only the bulky man several paces ahead of us at the main door stopping me from throwing her up against the wall and hiking her leg up around my hip. “We’ll find out if that’s true soon enough,gertsoginya,” I murmur hoarsely. “And you’ll take all of it.”

She licks her lips, a hint of nervousness flickering through her gaze as she holds her ground. “How did you get into the club wearing those?” she asks abruptly, gesturing towards my jeans, and I blink, briefly thrown off by the swift change in topic. But I can answer that easily enough.

I take one step closer to her, our bodies nearly touching now. I can smell the smoky, sugary scent wafting off of her skin, feel the heat of her body that I want so desperately pressed against mine, and I chuckle darkly, as I lean in so that my mouth is almost brushing her ear.

“Gertsoginya,”I murmur, as I feel her shiver. “No oneevertells me no.”

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