Page 10 of His Scarlette Obsession
My Scarlette makes a small, startled sound against my mouth as I haul her close, her body going rigid in my arms.
But I don’t release her.
Can’t.
I’ve wanted this since I first saw her across the street, that fire-bright hair catching the sunlight, that unguarded laugh that made something long dormant stir inside me.
Her lips are soft, warm, and utterly still beneath mine. For three heartbeats, she doesn’t move, her body frozen in shock. I wait for her to push me away, to slap me, to scream.
She does none of these things.
Instead, as I gently coax her lips with mine, something changes. Her rigidity softens. Her lips part on a surprised little gasp, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss, showing her how it’s done.
She’s inexperienced, that much is obvious. Each new movement of my mouth against hers draws a small, surprised sound from her throat. When I trace her lower lip with my tongue, she trembles. When I slide my tongue against hers, she moans.
But what she lacks in experience, she makes up for in passion. She’s learning with every stroke, every caress, mirroring my movements with increasing confidence. Her hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, finally settle on my shoulders, then slide up to my neck, her fingers threading through my hair.
The sensation is electric. I growl against her mouth, pressing her back against the desk, wanting to feel every inch of her soft curves against me.
And then something shifts again. She’s no longer just following my lead. She’s taking initiative, her tongue meeting mine, her teeth grazing my lower lip in a way that sends fire racing through my veins. She tastes like coffee and something sweeter. Something addictive.
This is madness. I’ve never lost control like this. Never acted on pure impulse. My entire life has been an exercise in restraint, in calculated moves and strategic decisions.
But with her, all that careful control shatters like glass, and so I hear myself growl against her lips, “Are you a virgin?”
I have to ask...because what will happen next depends on her answer.
She looks at me, wide-eyed and confused, lips swollen.
“I—”
“Yes or no, Ms. Hood.”
“Y-Yes, b-but—”
So be it then.
I drag oxygen to my lungs as I seek to control the raging demands of my body.
Virgin skin.
Virgin reactions.
Her body has never known another man’s touch, and it responds to mine with an honesty her mind would deny.
Little Scarlet Hood is mine for the taking.
I bend to kiss her again, more gently this time, savoring the sweet taste of her inexperience. But she surprises me, turning her face away, her hands finally finding the strength to push against my chest.
“Wait,” she gasps out unevenly. “This is—we can’t—”
I allow her to create a small space between us, though I keep my hands on her waist. She doesn’t try to escape entirely, which tells me everything I need to know.
“I want you to marry me, and you will.”
“But—”
I simply let my gaze drift to where photos of her grandmother’s bakery are, and her face pales.
