Page 45 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
In a gravelly voice, he says, “Tell me to leave. Tell me to go away and shut the door in my face.”
Before I can change my mind, I reach out, grab the front of his sweatshirt and gently pull him into my apartment.
He stares down at me with those burning eyes, his face hard. “One last chance. Tell me to leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Without looking away from me, he swings the door shut behind him with a flick of his hand. We stand for a moment, tension thick between us, until he says, “Bedroom.”
That single, husky word wreaks havoc throughout my body. I swallow, licking my lips, hesitating, but A.J. shakes his head.
“Too late, Princess.” He bends and sweeps me off my feet, into his arms.
This is a move that I, who reached my full height of five foot ten in junior high school, never would have thought possible. It takes a man as large and strong as A.J. to make lifting me look as easy as lifting a piece of paper from the floor. Along with being surprised and thrilled, I’m deeply impressed.
Also impressive are his shoulders, which I’m now clinging on to for dear life, because he’s walking across the living room.
He doesn’t need to ask again where the bedroom is; it’s pretty obvious. I’m hyperaware of every movement of his body, of the sound of his breath, of my own shrieking nerves. He pauses just outside my open bedroom door, and sets me gently on my feet.
“Invite me into your bedroom, Chloe.”
Trying not to faint becomes my top priority. “I . . . um . . .”
He takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Invite me in.”
God, he’s hot. Smoking, crackling hot, and also incredibly intimidating. I can’t tell what expression he’s wearing. It fluctuates somewhere between murder spree and kid on Christmas morning. When I lick my lips again, he watches the motion of my mouth and tongue with an almost predatory look, his eyes flashing in the shadows.
I whisper, “Come in.”
His lids briefly close, then his eyes go right back to roasting me alive. Satisfied, he nods, brushes past me, and goes directly to my bed, where he stands looking down at the rumpled sheets. In one swift motion, he pulls the hoodie off over his head, and drops it to the floor.
He’s not wearing a shirt underneath.
Now I’m gaping at his ripped, tattooed, naked upper body. Someone turned on the heat, because it flashes over me like I just stepped out of an air-conditioned room into a tropical rainforest. He looks over at me.
“Get in bed.”
Normally I’m not one to take commands from men. Or from anyone else, for that matter. But A.J.’s voice weaves a wicked spell over me, one I feel helpless to resist. Oddly, irrationally, I trust him. So that takes care of my brain. As for my ovaries, they’re partying like it’s 1999. Parts of me I didn’t even know I had are clenching, aching, nervously twitching in anticipation.
Never before has a man had such an effect on my body. If he told me to jump out the window at this point, I’d seriously consider it.
I climb into bed, sit against the headboard with my knees drawn up, and pull the sheets up to my chin. Wide-eyed and breathless, I stare at him. My mind goes a million miles per hour. Starlight and lightning bolts fly through my veins.
Shucking off his boots, he holds my gaze. Without removing his jeans, he slowly peels back the sheets. He slides in bed next to me, and, with one arm wrapped ar
ound my waist, pulls me from my sitting position until I’m lying flat on my back next to him. He whispers, “Roll on your right side.”
I do. He slides an arm beneath my head, tightens the other one around my body, pulls his knees up behind mine, puts his face into my hair, and inhales. A delicate shudder runs through his chest.
We’re spooning. Holy Jesus, A.J. is spooning me.
I can’t breathe. I’m having some kind of cardiac event.
“Take a breath,” he murmurs against the back of my neck. My lungs obey him. After a minute or two I can feel my toes again.
I’m too wired to say anything. My thoughts are too scattered. All I can do is lie in my bed with his arms around me, and feel.
And lord, do I.
