Page 85 of Never Fall for an Angel

What’s the worst that can happen?

Actually, scratch that. We all know that never ends well.

“I’m sure,” I nod slowly.

“Sit in front of me. Put your legs up on either side of the coffee table.”

I blow out a shaky breath but comply, my bare feet on either side of his hips and my knees locked together in front of him. Christian slips his fingers up my calves, over the goosebumps pebbling my flesh, and for a brief, shining moment, I thank Paulina for thinking of bringing me razors.

“Spread your legs, Mila.”

I hadn’t realized I had been clenching my knees together like there was a piece of paper being held between them. I release them, letting them fall on either side.

Christian rubs a hand over his mouth, his gaze locked on the center of my thighs.

“Tell me you want me to touch you.”

I already did that.

“Please, touch me . . .” I breathe again.

Holding my gaze, he slips from the coffee table, falling to his knees between mine. Reaching behind him, he tugs his shirt over his head, and it’s really not fair. He may as well be chiseled marble. I’m sure there are thousands of women who would pay money to see what I’m seeing right now. Christian Cross on his knees in front of me.

He tosses his shirt aside before his hands find my legs again. I have to spread my legs almost painfully wide to keep my feet on the coffee table, but when his hands slide up my bare thighs, I realize that’s the least of my worries.

My stomach tightens when he reaches my hips, his fingers kneading the flesh. He tugs me to the edge of the couch, his hands sliding around to brush along my inner thighs.

“Relax, Mila.”

My gaze locks with his. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath this entire time.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, voice shaky.

“What I’ve been thinking about since the moment I brought you home.”

Oh, God.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh, right above my knee. I’ve never been kissed there, and with the warmth that slips through me, I fear he just created a new fetish.

As if he’s testing the water, he moves just a little bit higher, dragging his lips along my skin. My gaze stays locked on his, and when I don’t push him away, his tongue darts out, licking my skin up to my inner thigh.

I let out a breath through my teeth, a shiver slipping through me, and Christian chuckles sinisterly.

“Can you focus on my tongue? Focus on how it feels on your skin.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl. Give me a word.”

“What?”

“A word to let me know if you get overwhelmed. Or if something doesn’t feel right. You say that word, and I’ll stop immediately.”

I suck in a deep breath, but he waits patiently, eyes on mine.

“Shipwreck,” I exhale, finally.

Christian smirks, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, much, much higher than the other.

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