Page 60 of Wood You Marry Me?

They lingered between us as she stared up at me, her green eyes wide behind her glasses. There was a fifty-fifty chance she’d kiss me or knee me in the balls.

The silence was punctuated only by the sounds of our heavy breathing.

“Why not?” she finally asked, her voice no more than a whisper. “What’s stopping you?”

I growled, desperate to contain the animalistic urges taking over every cell in my body. Because another taste, one more kiss, and I’d be done for. The self-control I was holding on to by a thread would snap. Then it’d be gone forever.

“I’m not good for you,” I growled. “And I promised Dylan. So I’ve got to keep my distance. Be your husband in name only. Doesn’t make it any easier to watch other guys flirt with you, though.”

Faster than I’d ever seen her move, she snatched at the fabric of my T-shirt at my chest.

“But what about me? What about what I want?” she asked softly.

I shook my head, but before I could respond, she was pulling me toward her, catching my mouth in a hungry kiss.

Without my permission, my hands found her hips and tugged her closer as I explored her mouth.

She tasted sweet, and her perfect mouth drove me wild.

I needed more. I wanted more. Fuck, my brain could barely function.

Then my damn hands were taking control again, dragging the neckline of her tank down and exposing the top of her bra. And I couldn’t hold back. I kissed my way down her neck, down her chest, to the swell of them, loving the weight of them in my hands.

“I was right,” I said, gently biting her nipples through the lace of her bra, then tugging that last layer of fabric down. “You like when I’m rough with you.” Again, I brought my teeth to one bud, grazing her skin as she writhed under my touch.

She moaned, arching her back, the sound so tempting I knew that if I didn’t stop this, I’d be fucking her on the bar in no time. And although that sounded perfectly wonderful, I wouldn’t do that to her.

“We should stop,” I said, brushing my lips back up her neck as she palmed my rock-hard cock over my jeans.

She shook her head in protest, but I pulled away.

“This isn’t right.”

The second the words left my lips, the look of lust in her eyes was replaced by anger.

“I’m sick of your caveman shit. You want to fuck me? Do it. Show me what it means to be yours.”

Grabbing her shoulders, I loomed over her, glaring. But I couldn’t stop myself from taking in her exposed tits and messy hair. Fuck, she was gorgeous.

I pushed her back against the bar, caressing her hips and then lower, until my fingertips brushed the hem of her denim skirt.

Against my better judgment, I dropped my mouth to hers again and inched the fabric up her legs.

“This is what you want?” I asked, stroking her inner thighs, reveling in the way they quivered. “You want to be mine?”

She gasped as I ran my fingers over the damp cotton at her center, then dipped inside it, finding the perfect spot.

“Oh, you’re already soaked. That’s my sexy wife.”

I thrust two fingers inside her, watching her eyes roll back in her head at the intrusion. She was wet and tight and warm and so fucking exquisite. My cock protested in my jeans, desperate to join the party, but I had to stay focused.

“You are my wife,” I said, curling my fingers inside her and rubbing her clit with my thumb.

She cried out, the reaction spurring me on. I was acting like a ridiculous caveman, just like she said I was, but I couldn’t stop myself. The line I had crossed in my head so many times had been completely obliterated.

“You belong to me. I don’t care if it’s only temporary. I don’t care what our reasons are.”

I pumped my fingers, dipping my head to take one pink nipple in my mouth, loving the taste of her skin and the feel of her clenched around me. With my thumb, I drew circles on her clit as she pushed back against me, riding my hand timidly at first.

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