Page 160 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Show me," she whispers, voice carrying a challenge that makes my blood surge south.
I capture her mouth again, but nothing gentle remains. My tongue slides against hers, tasting coffee and something that's her. She responds with equal intensity, nails digging into my shoulders through cotton.
I note morning light, unlocked front door, neighbors who could see through blind gaps. None of it matters.
My hands slide under her shirt, finding smooth skin at her waist. She's not wearing a bra. The discovery floods my system with heat. My fingers dig into her sides, harder than I'd ever allow myself with anyone else.
My breathing turns ragged, military discipline crumbling with each beat of her pulse against my fingertips.
"Fuck, Vanessa."
The words escape as a growl, not my usual calculated delivery. My mouth abandons hers without tactical consideration, drawn to her neck by pure instinct rather than strategy.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, dark eyes wide with surprise, lips parted.
"Did you just—"
My hands tremble against her skin. The man who can hold a sniper position for twenty hours without a muscle twitch now can't keep his hands steady on her body.
"Lose control? Yeah." My voice drops an octave, rough and desperate. "You do that to me."
Something in her expression shifts, becomes bolder. Her hands move to my shirt hem, tugging upward. I help her pull it over my head, fabric joining the growing pile of disorder on what used to be a spotless floor.
Her eyes roam over my chest, taking in scars that map my military history. Fingertips trace puckered skin across my ribs.
"Beautiful," she murmurs, and I laugh at the description.
No one has ever called my battle-scarred body beautiful.
But the way she looks at me cracks something open in my chest.
My hands slide higher under her shirt, cupping her breasts. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips that goes straight to my cock.
"Bedroom," I growl against her neck, tasting salt on her skin.
But instead of following, she pushes me back, small hands firm against my chest. The stubborn angle of her chin stops me.
"Wait." Her voice carries that tone I've learned means her brain has seized on something important. "I want to try something."
Before I can ask what, she's sliding off the island, feet hitting the floor with purpose. Her hands move to my belt, fingers working leather with quick efficiency.
My breath catches. "Vanessa—"
"Trust me." Her eyes find mine through dark lashes, and the blend of sweetness and resolve in her gaze breaks my control.
I trust her. The realization hits like a sniper's bullet. Clean, instant, devastating. I haven't trusted anyone with my body, my control, my vulnerability since I was eighteen.
She frees me from my pants, small hand wrapping around my cock with confident strokes that make my vision blur at the edges. I'm hard, have been since lifting her onto the counter, and her touch sends fire racing through every nerve ending.
"Fuck." The word rips from my throat, raw.
Her smile turns wicked. "I like hearing you curse like that. So different from your usual self."
If only she knew how she's destroyed every defense I've built over the past fifteen years.
She guides me backward until my shoulder blades hit the stainless steel refrigerator. Cold metal against heated skin should shock me back to awareness, but all I see is the way she's looking at me.
Like she wants to devour me whole.
