Page 37 of Unmasked

“No.” She snuggled closer to him, pressing her face into the base of his neck.

Her perfume wafted up and made it hard to breathe. She smelled like a summer garden, ripe and tempting. Her hair tickled the skin exposed at the collar of his shirt, and he brushed it from her face without thinking.

“Take me back to your place,” she said.

It was a bad idea for so many reasons. Lainey was far too important to him for anything to get screwed up. Sure, she was crazy and pushy and reckless, but she’d been part of his life for years. His sister loved her, his parents loved her. As for him... He didn’t know how to label it. He felt too old for her, too jaded. But he cared about her, that much was true.

“That’s not a good idea,” he said.

“What’s the big deal? It’s just sex. You want it, I want it. Why not have a good time?”

His restraint was like a rubber band pulled too tight—holding on, but threatening to snap at any moment. Excuses swirled in his head, words that encouraged him to have his way with her because it would be temporary, consequence-free. They could hide it until she left—and then they’d be on opposite sides of the world. No chance of awkward run-ins or a slip of the tongue after too many drinks.

“Tell me what you fantasised about,” she urged. Her body pressed against his, the gentle back and forth sway of her hips making his cock ache.

Damian gritted his teeth. “Lainey,” he warned.

“Do you think I can’t handle it?” She narrowed her eyes. “Pretty sure I’ve proven I can. Or is it that you’re afraid?”

“Of what?”

“That we might be amazing together...that we’re already amazing together? Why does that scare you?”

She was baiting him and doing a damn good job of it. But he couldn’t let her know that he was scared—of ruining things with her, with his sister. Vulnerability, however, wasn’t something Damian did. Not anymore.

“You really want to know?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’ve thought about bringing you to the brink over and over. Holding you back until you beg me to let you come.” Images danced in front of his eyes, all the fantasies of her he’d stroked himself to merging together. His control was slipping, dissolving. Turning to dust. “I’ve thought about fucking you so hard that you forget how to speak. So hard that you can’t take a step the next day without remembering how good my cock felt inside you.”

Her eyes widened.

“I’ve thought about that night,” he said. “Over and over and over.”

“And what do you do while you remember?”

“I think you know,” he growled.

A tiny noise escaped her mouth, and already her eyes had taken on a glassy sheen, her movements becoming stiff and jerky. “Take me home,” she whispered.

Their conversation was interrupted as the bartender arrived to check in with them. “Can I get you anything else?” The man looked at him expectantly.

Damian downed the rest of his scotch, though the expensive top-shelf liquor tasted like sawdust. “No. I think we’re done.”

None of his senses would be satiated until he got Lainey to his bedroom. Anticipation bubbled like boiling water, threatening to spill over and burn if left unattended for too long. But waiting was the best part, dragging out the exact moment that he would allow himself—and her—to go someplace new. Someplace terrifying.

The point of no return.

“Have you touched yourself while thinking about me?” She swallowed the remainder of her drink demurely as she waited for him to respond. There was no teasing in her tone now.

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Have you?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I have.”

“When was the last time?”

“Last night.”

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