Chapter 3 Avery #2
He drives fast. Controlled, precise. One hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh like he’s still making sure I’m okay.
His palm is warm and rests just above my knee, his fingers curling slightly against the inside of my leg.
Heat gathers where his fingers touch me, radiating out, up, until my whole body is humming with anticipation.
I’m yearning for more, but he doesn’t move his hand. He just keeps it where it is, steady, like he’s anchoring himself to me.
Without even thinking, I press my thighs together. A reflex. A failed attempt to try and hold back whatever is building inside me.
Chris notices, as he notices everything, and the corner of his lips twitch. The hint of a smile.
We pull into the parking lot of a modern home in Pacific Beach. White, nondescript, but clearly expensive. He parks and kills the engine. Neither of us moves.
“Avery.”
He says my name like he’s been tasting it all evening, trying it on. My entire body reacts. My belly tightens, and a flush comes over my chest and throat. Even my nipples harden against my dress.
I somehow manage to turn and look at him. His face is so close. His eyes are dark and mesmerizing, and his breathing is slow and rhythmic.
So many feelings that are new to me. A warmth in my lips. A jitter in my heart. And my underwear feels suddenly damp. But why?
“You must be sure,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Of what?”
“Sure that you want to come inside. Because if you do, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching you—touching you more.” His look is intense. He’s not lying. “I’m a disciplined man, Avery. But if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
My pulse goes haywire. Every nerve ending in my body lights up like fireworks as I look at this perfect man—a man who is careful, controlled, and dangerous. A man I barely know.
But I do know this.
I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.
I nod, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The restraint behind his eyes breaks. I watch as it gives way, like the sky darkening after a flash of lightning. Then he’s out of the car and coming around to my side before I even have my seatbelt undone.
He opens the door, takes me by the hand, and pulls me out and into his arms in a single motion. For one brief, explosive second, I’m pressed against his strong chest with his arm locked around my lower back and his mouth a hair’s breadth from mine.
He’s going to kiss me now.
Finally, after hours of tension between us. After our meal, his thumb on my wrist, juxtaposing the violence he used to protect me. Finally, he’s going to do it.
But he doesn’t.
He pulls back, grips my hand, and leads me up the stairs to the front door with long, purposeful strides. My heart is about to burst as I follow, my breath caught in my chest, my shoes scraping as my legs start failing.
I’m wound so tight that if he touches me anywhere, I might just come apart.
He unlocks the door, and like a gentleman, steps aside to let me in.
The house is sparse, nearly empty. A couch and a lamp are the only furniture. No photos on the walls, no clutter on the counters. It’s like he doesn’t even live here—only sleeps.
I turn around and open my mouth to speak—make some kind of small talk—but he’s right there. His chest rises and falls. His hands are at his sides, fists clenched like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will. His eyes are on me, pale blue but burning as if lit by something powerful within.
An even greater hunger swells between my thighs. More powerful than anything I’ve felt. Warm. Relentless. Demanding. I stare at his lips, hypnotized by thoughts of what they could do to me.
For the first time, I see him. The man behind the control, the discipline, the skepticism. The security consultant cover story. I see a man who behind all that is starving, and yet with all his strength and power is still hesitant.
Something is making him hold back.
I put my hands on his chest, feeling the heat through his shirt, the taut, corded muscles, the pounding slam of his heartbeat against my palms. And although my nerves are rattling and I’ve never done this before, I step up on my tippy toes and let my lips part.
“It’s okay, Chris. You can trust me.”
That’s all it takes.
His hands move quickly. One threads through my hair, and the other grips my lower back, pulling me into him. I gasp, but there’s no time.
His mouth envelops mine, and I taste him. Warm, strong, male. The sensation floods my senses, and I moan against his lips as the world shatters. His tongue sweeps against mine, and his hand tightens in my hair.
And like that, my knees buckle.
Chris catches me, of course. His arm locks around my waist with so much strength. He lifts me, presses me against the wall, and then I feel him against me. All of him.
Including the unmistakable thick bulge between his legs.
Wow. Is that what I think it is? It feels amazing.
I don’t even have a chance to think as his hand slides up my dress and finds my hip, firmly grips my butt, and lifts my leg up to his waist. He grunts hungrily and grinds against me.
Take me…
And he does.