Chapter Eighteen

 

RYAN

 

I don't register what's happening right away. I think it's the alcohol, or perhaps the events of the day, that are getting to me. Something, though, meant that when Davis kissed me, I didn't see it coming.

Her lips are soft. Nothing like me. Her body feels good pressed against me. It's soft, like her lips. Like a woman's body should be.

Davis loses her balance, leaning off her stool, and falls into me a little. This time I'm paying attention. I catch her in my arms, prop her up a little, and take another kiss as my reward. The first one was so unlike her—idle, searching, even calm.

The second one doesn't have nearly so much of her control over it. She doesn't get to dictate how much fire is in it, but I can feel the passion she's giving back as my arms wrap around her, and this is the Davis I know. Hot enough to burn you.

I feel the way that her body molds to mine, even through the clothes, the way that her skin sings where I find little patches showing, where her shirt lifts up a little because her arms are wrapped around my neck.

The energy in the little bar is electric, pulling me in closer to her. I shouldn't be doing this, I know. It's a mistake for us both. But I don't care any more about what we should do. I never cared, not with a woman this good.

I can feel the way that her heart beats. The way we're pressed together, her heartbeat feels almost as strong as my own, like it's right inside me. My teeth pull at her lips, her tongue probing and dancing with mine, an explosion of kisses and lips and teeth and mouths.

She pulls away first, her breaths coming hard. I can see in her eyes that she's not sure whether or not she should be doing this.

I know the answer, know that there's no way in hell we should be doing any of it, and I know there's no way either of us are going to stop. I lean into her, but she's going to have to cross that last gap between us if she wants it.

She's going to have to learn to surrender, but first she needs to want it, and she has to show she wants it. No excuses in the morning.

She doesn't take more than a moment to decide, pressing herself back against me, taking the offered kiss from my lips with a hunger that surprises even me.

I enjoy the kiss a moment more, but I'm not satisfied stopping here, and if we're going to move to the next level, it will be on my terms.

I pull away, and she starts to catch her breath, as if I were doing it to give her space. I put my hand on her chest, pressing her back against the bar. She's pliant, now. Nothing like the first time that we were alone in this bar.

She leans back and I get to enjoy the first sight of her looking almost pliable, almost convinced to give up control. I can see in the way that she acts that this isn't anything more than a game to her, not yet.

She'll learn, but I don't expect a miracle. Baby steps.

"Take off your shirt," I purr. As I say it, I wonder if she'll do it. The risk of her changing her mind is all too real. Then her hands start to move.

She works the buttons down. The first few come away fast. She's taking it off like she was going to get into the shower. But then she seems to catch herself, seems to remember that I'm looking. I say nothing.

She slows down, looking up at me through those thick eyelashes, and she undoes the next one. Now I get my first sight of those delightful breasts. The next one shows me a bit more, the first hints of her bra.

She undoes another. I have to take controlled breaths to stop it hitching in my throat. She looks magnificent, too good. A large part of me wants to rip the cloth out of her hands, to take what I want.

I know that part of her wants that, too. I can see the desire in her eyes. I don't do it, though. I stop myself. Hold myself still and force myself to watch with my eyes—not with my hands.

She undoes another button. The only button left holds her shirt together in the way that a mean look might have. She gives me another one of those looks, through her eyelashes. The way she's acting, I expect a blush on her face, but I don't see one.

She undoes the last button and I have to force myself to go slow. My hands reach out and push the shirt back and off her shoulders. It slips back against the bar, held up by her back.

I pull her forward, my hands feeling like they're going to burn on her hot skin. The shirt falls harmlessly to the floor. I pull her head in for a kiss. This time I don't take long before my mouth starts to roam.

I kiss the line of her jaw, then dip a little lower, pressing soft kisses against the sensitive skin of her throat. I can feel the catch in her breath. I enjoy the way that her breaths are coming rough and ragged.

She lets out a sigh as I reach around and pull apart the catch on her bra, the straps now hanging loose on her shoulders, but when I pull away her hand comes up, the first clear sign of hesitation on her part.

I put a hand on hers, pushing it away, but without any pressure. She seems to think that's enough excuse, and lets me move her hand away. The bra comes with it, and I watch as her breasts are revealed in the dim light of the bar.

They're bigger than a handful, and topped with delightful pink nipples that look good enough to eat. I can't resist a moment longer, and pull one in between my lips, pulling back with a slurp. She arches her back just a little to press into my kiss.

I've got other things on my mind, though, as my hand moves lower and starts to explore. Davis's the kind of woman who wears pants. It's not my favorite way for a woman to dress, but it suits her somehow.

It makes it real easy to find the place where they meet, and makes it real easy to avoid. My fingers dance past, only giving the bareliest hint that I had ever been aware that there was anything there to find.

Her body moves for a fraction of a second to try to follow my hand, to get it to go where I know she wants it. Davis catches herself fast, though. She leans back against the bar again and tries to catch her breath, tries to regain her sanity.

That's when I decide that there's no more time for games, no more time for teasing. I find her core, pressing my palm against it through the soft fabric of her trousers. She can't stop herself pressing back into me, can't fight the desire inside.

My body aches to move faster, but I don't. I keep myself moving slow. I lean forward again, press another kiss into her breasts, and then trace the line of her collar-bone back up to her neck and let my teeth scrape along the soft, sensitive flesh, drawing out another soft mewl of pleasure.