Page 29 of Seven Night Stopover

She emerged from a sensual haze long enough to notice her strap had slipped off one shoulder… that the upper crests of her breasts were exposed to his hungry gaze.

He traced a finger over her left breast and snagged it in the corner of her top. She noticed the faint trembling in his hand and her breath caught.

“Take it off.”

“I thought our clothes were staying on?”

“I saidmyclothes would stay on. I didn’t say yours would. I didn’t say I wouldn’t spread you over me and let you ride me until I came in my pants like a fucking teenager. And I sure as hell didn’t promise not to finger you to orgasm and taste your sweet cunt as you lost your mind. Did I?”

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The rough, filthy words washed over Leia, and another jagged shudder ripped her from head to toe. Her fingers convulsed on his hard-muscled shoulders, her nails digging deep.

He stared into her eyes as he passed his thumb over her silk-covered nipple, then caught the bud and squeezed hard, wringing a cry from her. “Did I, baby?”

She shook her head jerkily.

He curled his fingers into her hair and pulled back. Sizzling eyes pierced hers. “Vocalize.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Good. Then do as I say and take your top off.”

She couldn’t move. What he was doing to her skin was mesmerizing. Paralyzing enough to keep her locked on top of him.

“Leia.” The command was rough. Implacable.

“I-I can’t move.”

Blue eyes, dark and swirling with turbulent emotion, captured hers. “Need help?”

“Yes.”

He rose from his reclined position. His hands covered hers on his shoulder, meshed his fingers through hers and lifted her arms over her head.

“Stay.” He removed his fingers from hers and grasped the edge of her top.

Leia swallowed. In a few seconds, she would be naked from the waist up.

He’d see.

Every self-preserving instinct screamed at her to stop him before it was too late. He’d told her he intended to dig deeper. Letting him see the evidence of the broken soul she was trying desperately to piece back together would make him demand answers.

Because Noah King wasn’t a man who glided blithely through life. He wasn’t a man who would ignore the questions right in front of him.

He would see.

He lifted her top a few inches, then stopped. “Hell… baby, you’re wound so tight. I’m almost afraid to touch you in case you splinter into a million pieces.”

She wanted to slam her hands on his, stop him from uncovering the secrets she desperately needed to hide.

But she couldn’t move. Something about him compelled her to stay where she was. Do as she was told because the reward would be indescribable.

“Will you break if I touch you, Leia Michaels?”

She exhaled. Inhaled. Struggled to find a modicum of the balance she’d fought so hard to regain these past five years.

“I won’t break,” she whispered. Pleaded. “Touch me.”

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