Page 21 of Little Dove

Okay, that’s kind of hot, but also, what the fuck?

Who says things like that?

Does he expect me to just go along with this ridiculous plan of his?

His hand leaves my ass to cup the back of my neck, holding me still as his mouth descends on mine, making all those thoughts scatter. But he doesn’t kiss me outright. No, instead, he gently presses his lips to one corner of my mouth before doing the same to the other side. Then he traces his tongue along my lower lip, and I shiver in response.

I feel like my body is on fire, my nerves connected to live wires.

Is this what real desire feels like?

I thought I knew, but I was lying to myself. This is pure seduction—electric temptation.

He finally presses his mouth to mine, and I’m helpless to do anything but kiss him back. At least, I try to. I don’t have muchexperience in this department, other than a couple of awkward kisses a few years ago that I’ve never tried to recreate. But Lazaro must not care because he deepens the kiss, and I can only hold on to him desperately.

The taste of him is addictive, and I press closer to take more.

He gives a soft groan, and when I gasp as his grip on the back of my head tightens ever so slightly, he takes full advantage. His tongue slides into my mouth, tasting and tempting me, sending fire through my veins.

My hands curl into his neck desperately, wanting to be closer, needing more of him.

I don’t know how long we stay locked like this, but when he finally pulls away, my brain is foggy, my lips are tingly and swollen, and my breath comes out in harsh pants.

I stare at Lazaro, unsure of what to say or do, all while trying to understand the look in his dark eyes.

It’s wild, almost feral, and makes me want to see just how deep it runs.

“You are going to be the death of me, Amara,” he murmurs huskily.

Then he kisses me one more time before he pulls away and sets me back on my feet.

I learn the reason for the phrase made me weak in the knees when I have to grip his forearms to keep from stumbling.

I make the mistake of glancing down, thinking to gather my thoughts.

When I notice the tenting in his suit pants, the lustful fog in my brain quickly dissipates—but not before I blurt out, “You’re wrong. You’re going to be the death of me. Nope, hard pass. I don’t want to be split in half, thank you very much.”

He stills, and then he starts to laugh. Big, booming laughs that have me pulling away from him and glaring.

He looks at me, then dissolves into laughter again.

Asshole.

I wasn’t going to sleep with him anyway, but yeah, no.

From the looks of things, he’s big all over, and if he thinks all of that is coming anywhere near me, he is sorely mistaken.

Doesn’t matter how good of a kisser he is.

Tired of his laughing, I turn away, ready to resume my search of the room, but his hand grabs my arm and spins me around.

I glare up at him and his now red-flushed face.

“You, Amara Stanley, are adorable,” he tells me with a wicked grin.

Then he lowers his voice and adds, “I promise you, when I take you, it will fit. I’ll ensure it.”

I shudder at the erotic promise, which only makes his grin widen even further.

---