Page 37 of Surrender to Me
“Good girl.”
“Good girl?” The praise sends heat spiraling through me, and I feel my cheeks flush. He notices—of course he notices—and his mouth curves in a knowing smile.
“I was so damn tempted to smack that perfect ass of yours harder when I had you over my shoulder.” His voice is low and rough, weakening my knees. “The way you squirmed, the little sounds you made…”
“I didn’t.” My protest is immediate but only half-hearted.
The truth was, nothing I ever experienced had lit me up in that kind of way. Despite the very real threat we’d been facing, I had a total, visceral reaction to his man-handling and the stinging swat.
“Oh, yes, Allie. You certainly did.”
I look down, unable to hold his gaze, but he catches my chin with gentle fingers and tilts my face back up.
“Don’t hide from me. From yourself. Not tonight.”
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, and he pauses, waiting. When I don’t object, he lifts it slowly, giving me time to change my mind. But I don’t want to. Despite everything screaming at me that this is absurd, I want this. Want him.
The fabric slides over my head, and cool mountain air wraps around me, making me shiver.
Or maybe that’s from the way he’s looking at me…
I’m not wearing a bra, and his sharp intake of breath makes my nipples tighten.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.”
His hands skim my sides, barely touching, shooting goose bumps up my arms.
When his thumbs brush against my ribs, just below my breasts, I arch toward him without thinking.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “We have all night.”
All night. The words should terrify me—what happens when morning comes? When this spell breaks and reality crashes back in? But right now, with his hands on me and his eyes drinking me in like I’m something precious, I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow.
He reaches for the tie at my waistband.
His knuckles brush against my skin as he eases the soft material down my hips, and I bite back a moan.
“Step out of them.”
I do. My socks as well.
Suddenly I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my underwear and the locket. His gaze travels over me slowly, taking in every detail, and I fight the urge to cover myself.
“Perfect.” The reverence in his voice makes my chest tight.
Suddenly I’m feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my lack of clothes. Vulnerable. Like he can see right through all my carefully constructed defenses.
To cover my nerves, I trace the tattoo over his heart, following the elegant script.
His skin is warm and solid beneath my touch, and his breath hitches when I brush over his nipple.
“Allie…”
There’s warning in his voice, and I pull my hand back. But he catches my wrist, bringing my palm back to his chest.
“Don’t stop. Touch me.”
So I do. I explore the planes and angles of his torso, marveling at the way his muscles flex under my hands. There are scars—some old, some more recent—and I wonder what stories they tell. What dangers he’s faced. What battles he’s fought.
