Page 8 of Drunk on You (Hope Town 4)

But ... that cock.

Yes, that makes all the craziness that brought his visit to fruition worth it because I want that ... a lot.

Ten minutes later, I'm pulling my long blond hair up on top of my head in a wet, messy bun. I've got on a pair of my favorite yoga pants--the ones that I know make my ass look amazing--and a tight tank top. I wasted five minutes wondering if I should wear a bra or not, but I decided Shane would get me how I usually look on a Saturday: no work, no makeup, no fuss.

I look down at my chest and regret skipping the bra when I see my nipples poking through the cotton material.

"Well, that's one way to say hello." I giggle, turning back to go lock these bad boys up. Or that had been my intention until a quick but strong knock sounded on the front door.

My eyes widen, and I turn woodenly to stare through my apartment, half convinced my overexcited mind imagined the sound. When it repeats, I jolt, rushing through the living room area until I've got both my palms against the door and my face pressed against the peephole.

Even through my fisheye view, he's the most handsome man I've ever seen. His artfully shaped beard looking a day past a five o'clock shadow, something that I just know he spends time making sure looks good daily, makes the strong features of his face more pronounced. His long nose is perfectly symmetrical to his face, straight and as perfect as the rest of him. Thick brows that aren't too thick or too shaped, as dark as the locks on the top of his head, make his eyes look lighter than the moss green I know them to be. And those lips. Those sinfully full, pouty lips that just make a woman want to drop down and thank the good Lord he made such a perfect man.

"I am in so far over my head," I whisper.

As if he heard me, he looks up from the spot on the door he had been studying right in the peephole, smirking one side of those lips up in a grin that makes me think he can see through the door and right into my damn soul.

"So. Damn. Far."

I glance down at my nipples one more time and sigh. Well, might as well just go with it. The disengaging lock sounds louder than I've ever noticed. The only thing louder is the pounding of my heart. I take a deep breath, open the door, and look up, swooning the whole time, and pray I don't look as nervous as I feel right now.

"Hey," I wheeze, clearing my throat as my cheeks heat.

His smile widens. He's clearly enjoying my awkwardness just as much as I like what he looks like on my doorstep.

"How did you know where I lived?"

His lips part and his white teeth bare as his smile grows even more.

"It's really not fair that you're so hot. I actually think it's frying my brain cells."

His chest moves as he laughs; slow and deep grunts of what can only be described as a manly chuckle make goose bumps dance across my exposed skin. "Let me in, cherie."

"Oh, fine," I exasperate sarcastically, rolling my eyes and stepping to the side so he can enter.

He doesn't even attempt to be polite and use the space I've given him to pass into my apartment. He steps into my space, crowding me instantly with his eyes downcast and only giving me enough space to shut the door behind us. He reaches up, and before it registers what he's about to do, he's got the hoops of my piercings pinched between his fingers, pulling them just enough to give me a bite of pain. With the thin material of my shirt not offering much protection, I feel the burn of his heat tango with the pain smarting my nipples.

"I liked these when I saw them last night," he whispers in a deep rumble of pure seduction. "I think I like them a lot more now that I've got my hands on them."

I whimper. Shameless and pleading. My shoulders roll back and forth with a dance that begs for a partner when my nipples pinch from the movement and his hold.

"Tell me, Nicole. On a scale of drunken mistakes to fuck me now, how much of last night did you mean?"

I lick my lips, whining deep in my throat when he tweaks my piercings again.

"I don't like repeating myself," he continues, releasing another bite of pressure from his fingertips when he pinches me again.

"Whe-where does fuck me until I can't walk fall into that?"

His eyes shoot to mine, and I watch in fascination as his control slips for the briefest of seconds, the play behind his eyes making them look more honey brown than moss green.

"1Ca va etre mon plaisir de jouer avec toi, cherie."

"Holy shit," I gasp, eyes wide and panties soaked. "What was that?"

"A promise."

* * *

1 It's gonna be my pleasure to play with you, darling

"IF YOU KEEP SAYING ... WELL, whatever it is that you're saying, I'm pretty sure I'm going to make things crazy awkward and lock you in my bedroom for the rest of eternity."

He laughs again, clearly not understanding the state of my hormones as he shakes his head and bends to kiss my cheek. "Talk first, eat first, or let me eat you while you talk?"

My skin burns where his lips had touched briefly. Hot Hunnam on a stick, I'm going to combust. "Actually, I take that back. I'm not even sure I care if it makes things awkward, to be honest, because if those are the kind of options I get ... I might just keep you." I continue even though his words make my whole body go into overdrive.

"Eat first, talk second, and I'll eat you last," he decides, ignoring me completely. His eyes study my face for a small second before his smirk grows, and he silently walks around the cut-out bar top area and into my galley kitchen. Without even touching me as he struts past me, the jerk.

He makes himself at home. Opening the fridge, he rummages through the contents, not saying anything else while I stand there shocked and horny. I'm not capable of doing much else besides just gawking without even budging. I'm too close to melting into a puddle to be bothered with something as mundane, let alone asking the guest currently helping himself, if I can be of assistance. I'll tell you what I would rather be assisting him with.

"Not sure that's going to work," I finally say breathlessly.

All sounds from his raiding of the fridge stop and I wait, watching his grip on the fridge door tighten before he lifts his head and looks over the open door with a brow raised in my direction, silently questioning me.

"Even if I were hungry, I can't eat like this," I continue, waving my hands wildly in a sweeping movement from head to toe before waving them some more--and maybe a little more enthusiastically toward him.

He shuts the fridge, standing to his full height--again, silent. I should have worn shoes. At least, had I done so, I wouldn't be craning my neck to look up at him when he is so close. I would also be able to use that little height I gained to pretend he doesn't intimidate the crap out of me. But I didn't, and the second he moves from the fridge, taking the few steps needed to be back in front of me, I'm a ball of nerves two seconds away from going out of my mind. I keep my eyes level with his chest, watching the hard muscles flex under the black cotton T-shirt he's got molded to his skin. It's stretched tight against his muscular build, his pecs flexing with every single movement he makes.

I just resist fidgeting with my own shirt, knowing there is a massive difference in his hard and my soft. I take pride in keeping my body in shape, but nothing like he does.

His body is a work of art. Every inch of him, I bet.

Oh, shit. I'm doing it again. I mentally berate myself for ogling him for the hundredth time, shameless in my desire for him.

"I make you nervous," he mumbles, reaching one hand up to trace a slow trail from my temple to my chin. "Why?"

The silence ticks around us as he moves his fingers down my neck and over my shoulder before reversing his path. My heart pounding with each whisper touch of his. A finger. That's all it takes to make my core start to ripple with needy anticipation--and it's a finger that isn't anywhere near where I would love it to be.

He steps closer; my vision fills with the blackness of his shirt and my nose with the scent of his cologne when I take a quick--albeit nervous--breath. I need to get a hold of myself.

I'm the one who started this craziness, and now, here he is, ready to take what I'm offering, and I'm freaking out instead of taking what my body so clearly wants.

His fingers pass behind my neck, tickling the soft wispy hairs that had fallen loose at the base of my skull. I never thought the annoyingly small strands could be such a turn-on, but when he trails back, brushing over them again, I shiver.

"1Si timide. On va s'amuser," he whispers huskily.

I shiver, wishing to everything holy that I would have paid better attention in French class. Two years in high school and I've got nothing.

"What happened to the fearless little vixen who sent me a picture with her fingers deep inside her pussy? Hmm?"

"Oh, my."

"I won't bite," he continues, his low and husky voice tinted with humor. His tongue snakes out, the tip trailing up the shell of my ear before pulling away and pressing his stubbled cheek against mine; his mouth is so close to my ear his breath chills the wet trail he just created. "Unless you want me to, that is."

Good God, what about this man makes me mute and docile? I have never been that type of woman. Until this moment, I never would have guessed I had a docile bone in my body, but there is no doubt Shane dominates every single part of me.

Body and mind.

And even more confusing, I want him to. I need to get my head out of the books I love to get lost in.

"Why do I make you nervous, cherie? Is it because you're not used to the type of man I am, or because you aren't used to the way the type of man I am makes you feel?"

"May-" I clear my throat. "Maybe I'm just nervous about that giant cock you're working with."

"Now isn't the time to use your humor to shield yourself, Nicole. I asked you a question; now, answer it."

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