Page 82 of Every Promise Broken

Whit must be thinking the same thing, because a moment later, he breaks his lips away, resting his forehead on mine. “What do we gotta do to get Shooter and Nana off our case so we can be alone?”

Chuckling, I press one last kiss against his lips before we separate and stand. “Take the bottle of champagne to the room, and I’ll handle the rest.”

A grin splits his face, eyes twinkling with arousal. “I can do that.”

He’s almost toward the exit, when I call after him. “Oh, and Whit?” When he throws me a look over his shoulder, I say, “Be naked by the time I get in there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fuck. Me. This is going to be one hell of a reunion.

33

Whit Bowman

Following orders, I’m sitting on the bed, perched on top of my calves, completely nude, with my hands resting in my lap by the time Conrad walks through the bedroom door. His eyes find me immediately, darkening with a desire that I can feel from here. It’s potent, and it’s coursing through my veins too.

Back to the door, he works the bolo tie from around his neck until it’s loose enough to slip over his head. Letting it fall to the floor, he never takes his eyes off me as he pops each one of the buttons on his shirt open. Reaching down, I wrap a hand around my stiff length, feeling like I’m about to combust already.

But before I can— “Ah-ah.” Conrad clucks his tongue at me. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, now did I?”

I grit my teeth and shake my head.

“That’s right. That’smycock, kitten.” Goosebumps cover my flesh. “That means I get to say when you’re allowed to touch it, and I say not yet.”

Hungry eyes watching me, Conrad crosses the room in large strides. He walks with purpose. With power. Coming to a stop in front of the bed, he peers down his nose at me, grabbing a fistful of the hair at my nape as he gently pulls my head back until I’m looking up at him. He crashes his lips against mine, taking my mouth savagely and messily. My head is fuzzy and my chest heaves by the time he’s finished, and I watch as he swipes the bottle of champagne off the nightstand, bringing it up to his mouth as he takes a swig.

Then, without another word, he walks over to the chair in the corner of the room. Sitting down, he holds the champagne by the neck of the bottle as it rests on his knee. Gaze slicing to mine, I feel his stare everywhere. Patting his thigh, he says, “Get over here.”

Climbing off the bed, I take one step in his direction before he shakes his head and growls, “Crawl to me, kitten.”

My heart is a steady drum, a chaotic beat that makes it hard to breathe. I’m standing on wobbly legs, arousal flooding my system, my eyes trained on the brute of a man across the room sitting in the large wingback chair, somehow making it look small in his presence. His dark eyes look nearly black from here, hooded and full of lust. Full of debauchery.

Conrad’s words—his filthy demand—bounce off these four walls, stealing my breath and making my knees weak. His deep, gruff tone washes over me, pressing into my skin like a balm.

Shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Conrad looks like a fucking god in that chair. Sitting back, legs kicked wide, his well-worn jeans fitting him just right. The wide expanse of his chest, the dark, coarse hair covering it. Forearms corded and tan from hours spent in the sun every single day.

He’s beautiful.

Powerful.

He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and he’s sitting before me, demanding I drop to my hands and knees, and crawl to him. And God, do I want to. I would do anything this man asked me to do right now. Reading that letter at dinner, hearing the words he said to me, all of it was everything I needed and so much more. It healed something inside of me, and now it feels like I’m truly coming home.

Elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his fingers scratch along his jaw. My skin is on fire under the weight of his gaze.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, kitten,” Conrad growls when moments pass and I’m still frozen in place with my heart in my throat. The way that pet name falls from his lips so effortlessly sends a shiver through me. His tone leaves no room for argument and makes my dick impossibly harder. Conrad Strauss is a force to be reckoned with, and nothing has ever turned me on more than when he’s like this. When he lets his dominant side out. When he takes control, giving me everything I never knew I needed before him.

Which is why I drop to my knees, bringing my palms flat on the hard, unforgiving floor, and with my eyes never leaving Conrad’s, I crawl. Maybe this should feel embarrassing. Maybe it should feel demeaning. But it doesn’t. It feels empowering. It feels like I’m alive.

The faintest of smirks curves his full lips as he watches my every move. His bottomless eyes drink me in, and I swear I can see every obscene thing he wants to do to me in them.

It feels like an eternity before I reach him. Stopping between his spread legs, I sit back on my haunches, resting my hands flat on the tops of my thighs as my heart ricochets against my ribs. This close to him, his rich, spicy scent surrounds me, making me dizzy. I’m intoxicated on so much more than the champagne I drank earlier. I’m high on Conrad, and I never wish to come down. Not when he looks at me the way he does, like it’s takingevery last ounce of willpower to restrain himself. Like he’s dying to consume me.

And I want him to take all I have to give.

Reaching out, Conrad hooks a finger under my chin as he eases it up. Grabbing the champagne, he says, “Open up.”

And I do.

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