Page 52 of Rejected Exile

"In a moment. For now, I want to talk to you about other things." I grin a little at the way he swallows. Then I dip my head down, glance at his continued erection, and murmur, "I wasn't sure until just now whether you were attracted to me."

"It isn't obvious?"

"Not when you haven't said or done anything," I retort, shaking my head a little. "Though I guess Cat was right when she said that no man would show up at a woman's house day after day to fix the gutters and broken porch railing if he didn't think she was at least a little cute."

In a very serious tone, Lance says, "I would if the woman were my grandmother."

A grin plays on my lips, which his eyes dip towards briefly before he jerks them away. "You can look at them, you know."

"At what?"

"My breasts." I enjoy the way those words make him shift his weight around restlessly, like he's trying to find a way to ease the tension on his growing arousal. "You may not get to see them again, so take a good look at them now, Lance. I've already looked at your pants three or four times—it's the least I owe you."

His brows draw together, but his eyes roam hungrily down towards my chest. The way he takes them in, how he licks his lips and twitches a little, makes me feel bold and attractive. He wants me—is having difficulty restraining himself, even. I can almost imagine a version of him, pushed to the edge, who might rip my clothes off here and now and rut me into the ground like an animal.

"You can touch them too," I whisper, arching my back so my chest is lifted up towards him. "Go on. They're not going anywhere."

"I don't understand why you're offering this to me," he murmurs, his hand hovering in the air between us before he reaches out to cup my right breast. "We're in your backyard, you know. It's not exactly private—or appropriate."

"Maybe I like being a little daring," I tell him, stepping forward until his broad, strong hand is pressed against my chest. "Mostly, though, I just enjoy how uncomfortable it makes you feel. And how hard your cock is for me."

Lance winces. "You're not making this any easier, you know."

"I know." I grin at him wickedly, then reach out to grab his other hand and draw it up towards my chest. "Don't forget to brush your thumbs against my nipples. I like that."

A sound leaves his lips, something like a strangled growl. I put my hands against his broad, damp chest and enjoy the rumble I feel there. His eyelids flutter closed at my touch, and he inhales deeply, then opens his eyes and does exactly what I told him to do. As the large, calloused thumb of his fingers brushes against the peaks of my nipples through two soaked, thin layers of clothing, my breath catches, and heat sparks between my thighs.

"This is so wrong," Lance murmurs. "I should've kissed you before I fondled your breasts."

Then he swoops his head down to claim my lips with his. I draw my hands up towards his shoulders, and he places his against my back. Pushing up onto his tiptoes, I chase the brush of his lips, which taste like coffee and sugared pastries. A rumble travels through his chest as he draws me against him—and I slide my leg between his, enjoying the raw, primal pulse of his desire through the fabric that separates us.

His tongue darts out to push at my lips, and I open my mouth to his with a moan. The kiss is a slow, deliberate thing, like everything Lance does. He takes his time with it, exploring my mouth with the sweep of his tongue, each exquisite motion drawing heat up in me.

I feel like a miniature doll in the broad strength of his arms, pulled against his massive form, feminine and dainty. The attraction between us sparks until I find myself rubbing my leg up between. He moans into my mouth as I increase the friction, desperate for release, wanting all of him all at once.

Lance breaks the kiss off and stumbles back with a harsh gasp. His eyes, as they land on my face, are a fierce and flashing blue. The wolf inside him makes a low, animal sound at being denied pleasure—but Lance just shakes his head and pushes the animalistic side of himself off until his irises are cool brown again.

"Go get dressed, Delilah." His voice is calm, staid; he wipes ™his mouth and reaches out to brush wild strands of hair away from my face. "That was wonderful, but it can't go any further."

"It can't?"

"We're out in the middle of your backyard in broad daylight. There isn't even a fence."

I glance over my shoulder. "The garage is available."

"Gods, you're a tempting, gorgeous thing." He shakes his head, though, even as his voice and body say yes. "I'd love nothing more than to do just what you suggest, Delilah, but it wouldn't be right. If anything is going to happen between us, it should happen the correct way—not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're nothing but a plaything, when you're so much more." He bends down and kisses my forehead, gentle and warm. "Now go on. Find some clothes to put over that wonderful, infuriating white T-shirt. Take care of yourself."

My eyes flit down to his still-tight pants. "And you? Will you take care of yourself?"

"I was a middle school boy once," he points out. "I know how to make an erection go away without coming in my pants. Just—do me a favor and take that body of yours elsewhere for a minute or two."

I grin at him, enjoying how much his attraction to me has made him lose control. "Will do, Lance. Just don't go changing your mind while you're getting rid of that not-so-little problem of yours."

"Oh, it won't be easy, trust me."

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