Page 46 of The Bad Boy Rule

Since I can’t say anything with her hand on my mouth, I shrug.

She didn’t know that I have ulterior motives mixed with some shit I’m not even attempting to unpack.

Finally, she drops her hand but doesn’t step back, and I use the opportunity to drag my gaze from her eyes to the light freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then dropping to her full pink lips.

Those fucking lips.

I haven’t stopped thinking about them, painted in that bloodred lipstick she wore at the fundraiser, wrapped around my cock, dreaming about me fucking her throat until she swallows my cum down.

I continue the perusal, not giving a single shit that she’s tracking my gaze, watching as I drink her in.

My gaze drifts down the delicate slope of her neck to the front of that purple leotard that’s practically painted on her body, curved around her small but full tits, the kind that would be the most perfect fit for my hands.

Lower and lower.

Down to the flare of her waist, where her athletic skirt hugs her hips tightly, stopping at the creamy, pale skin of her upper thighs.

She’s fit but still soft in all of the places I want to kiss, drag my tongue along and find out if the same freckles are scattered where no one can see.

Lennon Rousseau is every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.

It’s a shame since she’s only meant to be a pawn in a game that’s far bigger than her. But that just means I’m going to enjoy every second I get until I finally win.

She might be the enemy, at least in namesake, but my dick clearly isn’t on board with that.

I drag my eyes back to her face when she mumbles, “What are you staring at?” Her words are breathy, light, as if they escaped before she could think better of it.

The air has shifted around us, thick tension seeping into my lungs with each breath I drag in, and I have no doubt that she feels it too.

It’s palpable.

“You.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, lips parting slightly, staring up at me with those wide, innocent eyes.

The perfect prey made for a predator to devour with sharp teeth.

And that predator is me.

I’ll be her villain. I’m the big, bad wolf, and the only thing I’m hungry for is the taste of sweet little Lennon.

“Whyare you staring at me?”

“Sure you want me to answer that?” I ask, reaching out to ghost the pads of my fingertips along the top of her thighs, just below where her skirt ends. Her breath hitches at the contact, and my eyes never leave hers, holding her stare, watching as her pupils dilate.

It’s different this time. Me touching her.

I’m not doing it because of an audience, because of our arrangement. And she’s fighting herself,hatingherself for how badly she wants to give in to her attraction to me.

She doesn’t have to say it out loud for me to know that it’s true. I can read her like a fucking book, with my eyes closed if I had to.

Her body betrays her in ways that her mouth never would.

I trail my fingers higher, a slow inch, and then another, testing the waters.

Just how far would Golden Girl let me go?

My palm curves around the back of her thigh while my thumb sweeps a slow path along her skin. Her soft,untouchedskin.

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