Page 44 of Faking the Shot
“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a teasing edge that makes my pulse quicken.
I know I should say something, anything, to break the tension, but all I can think is how his house suddenly feels too small. Too intimate. Too . . . him.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smirk like I expect. Instead, he steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine, the space between us charged with something electric and undeniable.
“Kaden . . .” I whisper, clutching the fabric of the shirt against me like it’s some kind of shield, even though it feels more like a threadbare excuse to stay close to him.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my jaw, tilting my face upward until our eyes meet fully. His dark gaze burns, and there’s no mistaking the hunger in it.
“You look like you belong here,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, almost like a growl. “Has anyone told you that you’ve got the kind of mouth that makes a man want to forget himself?”
“I—” My words die in my throat as his other hand grazes my hip, pulling me closer.
“We shouldn’t,” I manage, but it comes out breathless, more like a suggestion than an actual protest.
“We shouldn’t,” he echoes, his lips hovering just above mine. “But you’re making it very fucking hard to care.”
Before I can respond, his head dips, and his mouth brushes over my collarbone, his breath warm and teasing against my skin.
“Kaden . . .”
“Shh, baby, let this happen,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his hands move to the hem of the shirt I’m wearing. He pauses, his dark eyes flicking to mine, silently asking for permission.
My breath hitches, and I give the smallest nod.
In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside. His gaze roams over me, his hunger unmistakable, and then his mouth is on me.
His lips close over my nipple, hot and insistent, his tongue swirling in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through me. A gasp escapes me as his hand cups my other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure, his thumb grazing over the sensitive peak.
“You’re my client,” I breathe, even as my fingers tangle in his damp hair, holding him to me.
“Not right now,” he replies, his voice muffled as he switches to my other breast, dragging his tongue across my skin.
“Kaden . . .” My protest is weak, almost a moan.
“You’re going to be a good girl and let me eat my breakfast, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his words vibrating against my skin. “You made me hungry, Valentina. Now I want to eat you—all of you.”
His mouth closes over my nipple again, this time harder, and the sensation shoots straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body.
A choked sound escapes me as his hand slides lower, gripping my hip and pulling me against him. “Kaden,” I gasp, my head falling back as his mouth works its magic, my body trembling under his touch.
“You feel even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a possessive edge that makes my breath hitch.
I’m losing myself, my thoughts unraveling as he claims me with every touch, and I know—God, I know—I’m in way over my head.
Before I can form a coherent thought, Kaden’s strong hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly. A gasp escapes me as he settles me on the cool marble counter, his body slotting perfectly between my thighs.
“Kaden . . .” I manage, but my voice is shaky, breathless.
“My name sounds so fucking good on your lips,” he murmurs against my skin, his tongue flicking over my nipple. The roughness of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my head falls back, hitting the cabinet softly.
His hands trail lower, gripping the waistband of the boxers I’m wearing—his boxers. He pauses, glancing up at me, his dark eyes heavy with desire.
“Off,” he says, his voice rough, filled with heat.
I nod, barely able to breathe as he slides them down my legs, leaving me fully exposed, every inch of me at his mercy.
His hands roam over my sides, fingers tracing the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, as if committing every inch to memory.
