Page 43 of Stick Handled

“Let me in,” he murmurs, voice rough with something that sends a thrill through me even as I try to hold on to the last shreds of composure.

It’s a dangerous request—the kind of request that leaves me tingling, and I can feel every inch of him, every intense, unyielding look he gives me. And I realize with startling clarity that I don’t want to pull away.

His hands are everywhere, at my waist, pressing me back, then sliding to my hip, his fingers curling around me possessively, as if daring me to move away. It’s like he’s marking his claim without a single word.

“Yes,” I whisper. My heart is pounding with the thrill of it, the way he’s watching me like a predator who’s cornered his prey.

Damien leans down, his lips just a hair's breadth from mine, his voice rough and so low it feels like a secret.

“Is this why you asked me to give you lessons?” he whispers, his eyes gleaming. His fingers tighten on my hip, just enough to make me gasp. “Hoping I’ll eventually take what I want?”

The huge room feels smaller and hotter, my skin prickling under his touch. I manage a shaky breath, but he’s so close, and I feel like every inch of him is daring me to turn back now.

My eyes flicker left to Rowan’s house, scanning the area for any signs that he’s awake.

He chuckles, dark and rich, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip, his gaze following the movement like he’s thinking about how much he could take. “See, I’m starting to think,” he murmurs, his mouth curving into a wicked smile, “you like the idea of being caught with me.”

My cheeks burn, but I don’t pull away. I can’t, not when he’s looking at me like he’s unraveling me with just his stare. And he knows it, too; I can feel it in the way his hand settles on the back of my neck, his thumb tracing little circles.

I clutch at his shirt, torn between pulling him closer and running as far as I can. But the dark intensity in his gaze keeps me right here, pinned under his touch, under his knowing smirk. I can barely hold his gaze, but he tilts my chin up, keeping me captive, refusing to let me look away.

“Are you going to be as bold as I know you want to be, Avery?” His voice is a slow, molten drawl, thick with a promise that makes my skin tingle. “Or do you want me to stop?”

“I… I don’t want you to stop.” I swallow hard.

The grin that spreads across his face is lethal. His hands skim up my sides as he backs me up to the couch. He watches me with that dark, predatory gleam like he’s savoring every inch of hesitation I have left, knowing it’s all about to unravel. I know it will.

He lets his hand linger on my jaw for a moment, his thumb tracing my cheek in a way that feels both possessive and achingly tender like he’s letting me know just how easily he could pull me in, leaving me breathless and wanting. And then he leans down, his lips ghosting over mine, the barest touch that sends a pulse of heat right to my core. It’s maddening, the way he hovers, making me feel like he could devour me if he wanted to. And I’d let him.

“Good,” he breathes, his voice a dark promise against my mouth, his fingers slipping down, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”

His fingers curl around the edge of my shirt, and I can feel the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric. My breath hitches as he tugs gently, pulling the material up just enough to expose the sensitive skin of my stomach. His gaze follows the movement, dark and hungry as if he’s memorizing every inch of me.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice low and rough like he’s barely holding back.

I nod, too breathless to speak, my pulse pounding in my ears. He smirks again, that dangerous, knowing curve of his lips that makes my knees weak. Without warning, he lifts me effortlessly, setting me down on the couch with a gentle push. I sink into the cushions, my legs parting instinctively, inviting him closer.

He follows me on the couch, kneeling above me. His eyes are raking over my body, taking everything in, and just as insecurity starts creeping into my mind, he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as if to calm himself down. When he opens his eyes again, they’re absolutely feral. He falls forward, throwing out his left hand to support his weight, his other one grabbing my jaw.

“Tell me to stop,” he says with a pained expression. “Tell me to stop, Avery, and I will.”

“Please, don’t stop,” I whisper. The change in his expression is instant. With his hand around my jaw, his lips crash onto mine, fierce and possessive. I kiss him back, trying to keep up with him, but he’s gone absolutely wild. His tongue gently licks my lips in a silent plea, and I open them, letting him slip inside. He tastes of mint, whiskey, and maleness.

His hands are everywhere at once, skimming over my ribs, sliding under the hem, his fingers brushing against the clasp of my bra.

“Your skin is so soft,” he says, almost to himself, as his hands continue to roam. I bite my lip, trying to stifle a smile as he works the hooks loose one by one. I can’t help the whimper that comes out of me just as his hands cup my breasts under the shirt, his thumbs grazing across my nipples, already hard and aching for his touch.

His mouth follows, leaving a trail of hot kisses down my neck, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin just below my ear. I gasp, my head falling back as he continues his slow descent, his lips moving lower, his hands continuing their relentless exploration. I have never been kissed like this, never been touched like this, never felt like this before.

He kneels between my legs, his eyes locked onto mine as he pulls my shirt up over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze flits down, taking in the sight of me half-naked, my bra hanging loosely from my shoulders, my nipples peeking out from the top of the thin fabric. A low growl rumbles in his chest, sending a thrill of anticipation through me.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “So fucking perfect.”

I feel myself brush at his praise.

“Tell me what you want, Avery,” he demands, his voice commanding, brooking no refusal.

I lick my lips, my mind racing, my body begging for release.

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