Page 98 of Blindside Sinner

She’s not even mad the way I expected she would be. Her voice is hushed, almost timid. Like she knows that things have crossed another line and they’re never, ever going back to the way they were before.

I hold out my hand. “I came to ask you to dance.”

She looks at the groper one more time, then at me again, and says four little words that get me hard as a damn rock. “Took you long enough.”

Then, at last, she puts her hand in mine.

I can’t help grinning like a maniac as I pull her close to me. My fist is throbbing, but it’s a good kind of ache. It matches the pulse of the music, the pulse of Sloan’s heartbeat pounding in time with mine as we start to find our rhythm. She’s tucked against me, back to front, and her hair feels like silk and smells like heaven.

I’m stupidly hard, stupidly smitten. I want her so bad I can barely stand straight.

A song passes in what feels like a nanosecond. When it ends, though, I don’t let her go. I haven’t had enough of Sloan. Notnearlyenough.

So I spin her around to face me, then hold onto her for another.

And another.

And another.

And then I can’t take it anymore. How long is she going to make me wait to get what we both want?

When my hand creeps higher up her thigh, she touches the back of my knuckles. They’re still raw from breaking the nose of thebastard who dared to touch her. I think for a moment that she’s telling me not to go any farther. That she’s reinforcing the lines we both drew for our own good.

But then she looks up at me and those eyes flash. She doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t have to. That liquid heat in her honey-colored eyes is good enough.

So when she lets go, I float up the last few inches, push her panties aside, and slide a finger inside her hot, wet folds.

And goddammit, it feels like coming home.

Her knees buckle almost instantaneously. I hold her up as she falls onto my hand. For a second, we don’t talk—she only moans, letting her head ragdoll against my chest. I wait until she’s about to come, until her body is tight and tense, and then I pull my fingers out and raise her chin until she’s gazing up at me. The frustrated whimper that escapes her lips is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Tell me what you want, Sloan.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I want you to take me home and fuck me.”

50

BECK

We ride all the way to my place without touching. If I touch her, I’m not going to make it home.

But the anticipation is as potent as if she’d put her head in my lap and started nuzzling. Not touching is somehow better foreplay than actual foreplay would be.

So by the time I push the door open and we’re in the house, I’m ready. She is, too. She turns and flings herself into my arms, pushing me into the wall and holding me there with her body.

But this isn’t how I roll. Not tonight. Not with her.

I turn us, pin her body between me and the wall, so I can feel all the soft curves, all the delicious lines of her body.

The kiss is deep. I keep her impaled there with my hips as my hands slide the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Where she was limp and unresisting earlier when I had my fingers inside her, now, she’s all fire.

She’s got her hands plunged into my hair, sucking my mouth to hers, her leg hitched over my hip. I scoop her up, two palmsunder her ass, so she’s floating off the ground and utterly at my mercy. Her dress is hiked up around her hips, and when I glance down, I see a flash of red panties that make me growl right into our kiss like a feral beast.

She doesn’t stop kissing and biting at my throat as I carry her up to my room. We’re both groaning, sweaty messes. So desperate that words just won’t do it justice.

“Beck—”

“Sloan—”

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