Chapter 23
HOLLY
“Tell me,” I say, still shaking all over from the adrenaline rushing through my body. “What is it about?”
For a second, we just stand there, staring at each other.
The kitchen is a disaster. I’m a disaster. My hair is dripping down my back, I’m half naked, T-shirt dark where it’s soaked, and somehow none of that matters.
Not compared to the thunder behind his eyes.
His jaw flexes. Once. Twice.
“This is about you and me.”
The next thing I know, his hand is grabbing my neck, and he pulls me forward into a kiss that is everything but sweet. It’s desperate, demanding, full of frustration.
His palms knead my breasts, rough enough to steal my breath.
When my mouth opens, he takes full advantage, and his tongue slides past my lips.
There’s nothing gentle about it. And when his body crowds mine, retreat is no longer an option.
I make a small sound I don’t mean to, kissing him back like I’ve lost all sense, fingers curling desperately into his tie as he backs me into the cool counter.
Something clatters behind us. I’m not entirely sure what I’m holding on for, but I have the distinct sense that if he let go of me now, I’d slide straight to the floor in a puddle.
I don’t get a second to breathe before his hands move from my breasts to my hips, gripping so firmly I’m pretty sure there will be bruises later. I’m more than okay with that.
He turns me in one smooth motion, until I’m facing the marble counter again.
“Hands on the counter.”
The command snaps something into place. My palms land on the gray-veined stone before my brain catches up.
“Dexter…?”
“First, I’m going to deal with you,” he growls. “I’m going to make you answer for that stunt. I’m going to fuck you in every room. On every surface. However long it takes, all night if needed. And by the time I’m done, there’s no chance you walk away without my baby inside you.”
Heat slams through me so fast it scrambles my thoughts. “Is… that a threat?” My brain barely holds the words together.
I feel him closing in, his muscular chest against me.
“It’s a fucking promise,” he whispers across my skin like fire. “Lean farther down, ass up.”
“Wait—I thought it was a joke.”
“No joke. Now.”
I bend forward slowly, breath shaking. He’s got me pinned so tight I’m on my tiptoes (and thank God my calves are used to random stretches… and apparently trained for situations exactly like this).
He lifts my shirt over my ass. In the next breath, his foot slides between mine, nudging until my legs part a little more.
“This,” he says, right behind me now, “is for almost burning the kitchen down.”
A loud smack! lands on my backside.
I cry out, fingers curling over the edge of the counter. The sting blooms fast and turns into a warmth that spreads through the rest of my body.
“Dexter!” My surprise turns into something else entirely. I shouldn’t be liking this.
“And this,” he continues, “is for running around wet and barefoot.”
Smack!
His palm lands again. “Ouch!”
“And these—”
I start to turn my head, already forming a (mild) protest.
“Are for London.”
SMACK! This one is firmer, immediately followed by a fourth. SMACK!
My knees go weak. Not from the contact alone (or the double hit), but from the way he said it. From the fact that he cares so much to sound like that.
“You don’t get to scare me like that,” he continues. “You don’t get to talk about leaving and then hurt yourself in my kitchen.”
“My kitchen,” I snap weakly.
His hand presses flat to my lower back, holding me exactly where I am.
“Not anymore. You’re banned from this kitchen, from any kitchen,” he says, “effective immediately.”
I barely register the sound of his belt buckle, his zipper, and the rustling of cloth as he slides his jeans lower. It makes me shudder with need, my sex throbbing for his touch.
I’m breathy, I’m shaky, I’m too turned on.
“Good,” I manage, noting how quickly I folded. “I can live with that.”
I’m panting when he grabs my ponytail and wraps it around his fist, stretching my head back. The next moment, his fingers slide between my thighs. They begin circling, teasing, making me tremble.
“I don’t lose control. I don’t get distracted. I don’t let people under my skin.” His voice goes low. “And then there’s you, Holly. And all of it goes to hell. You ruin every bit of my control.”
“Then stop trying to contr—ooohhhh!”
Without warning, he pushes inside me.
The intrusion rips a sound from both our chests. I clench around him, my body twitching as his groan rumbles against my ear.
“Just take it, baby,” he grits. “Every inch of me.”
He pulls my head back further, forcing me to curve into an arch for him, and the effect is immediate. Dexter is all I can feel. The thickness, the sheer length, the destabilizing sense of being filled by him. I know how big he is. That shouldn’t still surprise me. And yet—
“Tell me you’re in… all the way…” I pant, “because I can’t take more.”
“Not even halfway. Breathe. You’ll take the rest.”
“I don’t know if I can…”
“You will.” I shouldn’t like how sexy his words make me feel. He just holds me there, blissfully stretched and trembling, and when he feels my body relaxes a little, he slides the rest of the way in. “You were made for this. For me.”
A high cry bursts from my throat. I’ve never felt anything this deep, this hard.
“There,” he rasps. “Right where I’m supposed to be.”
He’s pure steel inside me, impossibly firm, overwhelming in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
Then he moves.
He takes me hard. Harder than anything I’ve felt from him. All I can do is hold on, dizzy with sensation, my body pulsing in response. His fingers are right on that spot, teasing, making my knees threaten to give out.
I moan his name. Again. And again.
My body is on fire, and I’m losing ground fast.
Hearing him growl my name in his most unguarded moment, while he’s losing his restraint, is intoxicating. He keeps going, rubbing my clit, thrusting. There’s no warning when he comes. He starts releasing into me, while I’m teetering on the edge, only a stroke away from forgetting where I am.
“Dexter,” I breathe. “I’m going to—”
He stills.
“Dexter,” I say. “Please.”
He removes his fingers from my very wet, very swollen, very offended clit, which has very, very strong opinions about this decision.
I twist my head, desperate now. “Don’t.”
“Your orgasms,” he says, calm as ever, maddeningly sure. “They’re mine now. And no, you’re not coming.”
“That isn’t in the contract,” I say, breathless, half protesting, half begging.
“You don’t know that.” He pulls out of me. “You should have read it.”
He’s joking. He absolutely better be.
“So. Thai or Chinese food?” he asks.
Huh?