Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dara
I reach across the sofa and lift the edge of his tie. My knuckles drag against the wall of his chest.
“Patience is not a virtue,” I say, running my fingers up the silk to the loose knot at his throat. “That’s just an old proverb.”
“Actually, it is.” His throat moves as my hands brush lightly against it. “It’s a complexity consisting of many fundamental virtues like humility, generosity, and self-control.”
Leave it to Wade to give me a philosophy lesson while I’m trying to seduce him.
I keep my outward attention focused on his tie. “I think it’s safe to say that you get an A in self-control.”
My chest shakes. Each breath is a struggle to stay even-keeled and not a full-on pant like my adrenaline level demands.
The knot frees with little effort. I pull one end. The fabric slides across the back of his neck and then down the other side of his torso.
“You don’t do too bad when it comes to self-control either,” he says, the words strained.
The playing field has been leveled—at least a little. I’m getting to him as much as he’s getting to me. I’m certain, without a reasonable doubt, that if I made an effort to kiss him that he would kiss me back.
But that would be too easy.
I look at him, winding his tie around my hand. His eyes darken as one of my sleeves falls off my shoulder and lands midway down my arm. I’m aware of it; cool air kisses the once-covered piece of skin, but I give it no attention. I just wrap the silk around my knuckle and otherwise sit still.
There is a cushion between us—just enough space for me to get a full view of him.
In the low, amber-colored light, all of the traits I love about Wade are amplified.
He’s sharper, taller, darker. Sexier. And with the heat dissipating off the fireplace in front of us, my need to find relief from my overstimulation is nearly too much.
He reaches across the cushion with a deliberation that makes my insides quiver. He takes the tail end of his tie and gives it a tug. The other end is nestled in my palm with the rest of the fabric wrapped around my hand. I don’t let go. I can’t—not without letting the silk unwind first.
His lips form a sinful smirk as he guides me toward him. Once I’m closer, he drops the material and grips my hips instead.
His eyes lock with mine.
I bunch my dress at my hips, and then, as he lifts me, I move across his lap and straddle him.
I sink against him slowly.
His lips part. I raise a suspecting brow. Together, we grin.
Every cell in my body buzzes as I try to process the beauty of his unguarded smile, the feel of his hands cupping my ass—how hard his cock is, and how close it is to my opening.
I shift my hips, earning a slight hiss from Wade, and begin to work on his shirt buttons.
“Keep that up, and my self-control will be out the door,” he warns.
“Isn’t that the point?”
He chuckles, the sound scuffing against my already raw libido.
I can’t resist. “You know,” I say, smirking, “this is adding a level of intimacy in our relationship.”
He doesn’t answer me. He just hums in an acknowledgment that I spoke … and as a deflection.
I scoot back, ensuring that I rock against him as roughly as possible, and finish unbuttoning his shirt. He works his shoulders around, helping me rid him of it. Then he leans back against the sofa as if he’s not sitting there looking like a Greek god.
Damn.
I stare at his chest. I know I do. But the lines on this man’s body are insane.
Who knew the architect looked this … hot? Because it is hot. It exceeds handsome and good-looking and even gorgeous.
He. Is. Divine.
A heavy line runs from his neck out to the balls of his shoulders. A hollow spot just above his clavicle is a perfect spot for a kiss. His pecs are defined, his stomach is rock hard, and his sides go from wide to narrow at his hips in a way that makes me crazy.
“I don’t know how I like you better,” I say. “In a suit with glasses or like this.”
“I would imagine most women would prefer this, yes?”
“Some, maybe.”
I place my hands tentatively on his stomach and lean forward. His breath is hot against my lips. His eyes burn into mine. I hold them and smile.
“Despite all of the dirty things I hope you do to me with this body tonight,” I say as he tightens his grip on my waist, “I think I like your brain the best.”
His fingers relax a bit. “What?”
“Any guy can go to the gym and get a six-pack.”
“That’s an eight-pack, but thanks for noticing,” he teases. “I’ve worked really hard on that.”
I trail my fingers across the dips of his muscles and look him in the eye. “Good work. I approve.”
He shakes his head.
“But how many men can do what you do?” I ask, my voice sincerely curious. “How many can design homes and hotels? I mean, geez.”
A grin ghosts his lips.
“Most men can’t admit they’re wrong, and you kind of did that tonight.”
The almost-grin is gone, and a warning look is planted on his face. I laugh at it.
“And,” I say, ignoring the silent plea from Wade to stop talking, “not many men can walk into a room full of people—their families, even—and have everyone give them their full respect.”
He forces a swallow.
This wasn’t what he was expecting. But sometimes, the truth hurts, even when it shouldn’t.
“I don’t know if that’s true, necessarily,” he says.
“It is. I watched them.” I smile at him. “Every man in that room tonight wanted to be you and every woman wanted to be with you. Except maybe Blaire. She looked pretty in love. And the ones you’re related to because, you know …”
He chuckles, moving his hands back to my ass.
“If that is true, it’s because I walked in with you,” he says.
“Wade Mason,” I say, my cheeks flushing. I smack him gently on the chest. “Are you being sweet?”
“I know. I apologize.”
I laugh. The sound breaks the moment, and I’m suddenly acutely aware once again of where I’m sitting.
On top of Wade Mason.
I roll my hips, pressing down on his lap. He raises his hips to accentuate the motion.
He growls. “You are really testing my self-restraint.” His fingers slide beneath the hem of my dress. And as soon as his skin touches the lace of my panties, I shudder.
My movement slows, and I still on top of him. Heat rushes from my pussy, and I wonder briefly if he can feel it.
As if he knows my thoughts, he smirks.
“Let me ask you a question,” I say, forming an eight with my hips in one long, deliberate movement.
“No.”
“No?” I grin. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I’m done answering your questions.”
I narrow my eyes and create another eight. “For how long?”
“Patience, Miss Alden. Patience.”
I lick my lips and press my thumb against his partially open mouth. He nips the pad of my thumb with his teeth, grazing the skin with a sharpness that somehow radiates through me.
“I assure you, Mr. Mason, that my patience bandwidth isn’t going to grow with your mouth—oh!”
In one swift move, Wade sits up, wraps his arm around my waist, and flips me onto my back. He hovers over me like a predator eyeing prey.
Shit.
My chest rises and falls quickly. Blood pounds through my veins. Anticipation thickens around us, and I wonder, for the slightest second, if it’s possible to pass out from a look.
His hand cups the base of my neck and tilts my chin. “Are you sure?”
I force a swallow. “Am I sure of what?”
“Are you sure about this?”
He looks so deeply into my eyes that I’m pretty sure he can see the answer.
“Last chance.” His words are intentional, each syllable clear. “If we go forward, we can’t go back. Everything will be different.”
I nod, but that doesn’t suffice.
He narrows his gaze. “I’m not going to be able to feel the way I felt before I knew what it was like being inside you.”
Oh. My. Fuck.
My body temperature spikes. My core clenches and my body hums, demanding him to follow through on that promise.
“Come on, Miss Alden,” he goads. “You want to talk so damn bad. Where’s your cocky little mouth now?”
It takes a moment longer than I’d like to gather my wits. It takes a full minute too long to remember how to speak. But when I do, it’s with all the confidence I can muster.
“Are you done?” I ask.
He grins devilishly. “What? You don’t want to talk anymore?”
I give him his grin right back. “I was hoping you were finished giving me the terms and conditions of getting fucked so we could get on with it.” Although he still has a hold of the back of my head, I lean up as far as I can. “So you can get inside me.”
He crashes his mouth to mine, his fingers wound roughly in my hair. It’s wildly reckless yet dizzingly controlled at the same time.
Everything is heightened from the weight of his body on mine to the smooth strokes of his tongue past my lips. I wrap my arms around him and pull him tighter against me, needing as much of him in every way as I can get.
We kiss as if we’re teenagers with an impending curfew—lips moving, hands roaming, wills bending.
The overwhelming tension between us melts away as we give in to the moment.
He lifts himself and slides a hand down my body. His palm rolls over my breast, presses against my stomach, and moves between my legs. One knee falls to the side as I try to fiddle with the buckle of his belt.
Kisses are planted across my jaw, down the side of my throat, and onto my collarbone.
His fingers dip beneath the lace of my panties, and with a distinct tug, the fabric gives way at my hips.
“Wade—shit!”
My cry interrupts my attempted suggestion that he disrobe, thanks to his thumb pressing hard against my clit.
“Shit?” He lifts a brow, pressing small circles against my sensitive bud. “Where are all the words now, Dara?”
“I still have them,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut before they pop out of my head. “Damn, that feels good.”
“Does it?” He slips one finger deep inside my pussy. It’s quickly followed by another. “I wouldn’t have known.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
I rock against his fingers as he strokes them in and out of me. I lift my hips and hold still, giving him more access … and easier access.