Milo
I feel her before I hear or see her, the click of heels multiplying somewhere behind me.
I turn towards the sound and I’m on my feet immediately, striding for the front door with irritation already tightening in my chest.
Not only did she think she could leave this house without me, she apparently believed she could do so without even saying goodbye.
Unacceptable.
She’s almost at the door when I stop short.
Because I finally see her.
And fuck me.
She’s wearing a dress so indecently short it’s near criminal, the colour some obscene shade of pink that should never work and yet it does.
It reflects the light, moulds to her in all the right places, making her pink hair look even more ludicrous, somehow.
My eyes drop to her legs.
They seem to go on forever, made impossibly long by knee high boots that hug her calves, an outright challenge to my self-control.
I actually groan.
Out loud.
This woman is trying to kill me.
The way my cock hardens is absurd. I nearly come in my pants just from seeing her sexy fucking body in that dress, reduced to the reflexes of a prepubescent idiot with no reserve whatsoever.
And she isn’t even naked. Imagine when she is.
The dress is criminal.
Truly.
Designed with the sole intention of ruining men.
And it has ruined me completely.
I don’t know how I’m still standing, how I haven’t dropped to my knees yet, everything in me primed to worship her.
She watches me with a glint of mischief in her eyes, a slow smile lifting her mouth.
Everyone is already in the garage, I can hear the men arguing even from inside, their voices bleeding faintly through the walls.
Then she winks, and turns toward the door.
I narrow my eyes.
She takes a single step forward.
Just one.
My hand tangles in her hair and I haul her back into me, hard. Her spine bumps into my chest, the impact knocks the breath from her.
I release her hair and slide my hand around her throat, my grip tightening lightly, while my hard cock presses into her back, showing her precisely what she does to me.
Her head tips back against my shoulder. I lean down, my nose brushing her ear, breathing her in like oxygen.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” I growl.
She inhales unsteadily.
I let my mouth trace the line of her neck, my tongue lingering as I lick, suck, and bite. I swear she moans, though it is so soft it is barely audible, as if she is still clinging to that last shred of composure, adamant that she is unaffected by me.
She is anything but.
Her body answers mine, her soul calling to me whether she wills it or not.
I pull back, my fingers loosening at her throat.
“Go,” I grumble. “Go now, gorgeous. Before I decide to take you over my shoulder and tie you to our bed.”
For a moment, I think she will fight me.
But then she steps away, straightens herself, and walks out of the chalet without looking back.
I don’t miss the tremor running through her body with each step she takes away from me.
I remain where I am, my jaw set in a hard line, pulse roaring in my ears, watching the door long after it has shut behind her.
“Run, gorgeous,” I murmur. “I have always loved the chase.”