‘Sit down,’ I ordered.
She stayed where she was for a second then slowly backed up to the chair and sat down on it. Her head tipped back as she looked up at me, her pulse racing in the hollow of her throat, that star glittering in her throat. And I could picture her midnight eyes behind that blindfold, pupils dilated…
‘You sure you want this?’ I asked to be certain. ‘It won’t work if you don’t want it.’
‘I want it.’ There was no hesitation in her voice, none at all. ‘I want you.’
I felt that ripple through me, so fucking sweet. It was always sweet when they wanted me but somehow, right now with her, it was even sweeter.
She’d been too young for me back then and way too innocent. I’d been far more interested in the beautiful girls who’d flung themselves at me half-naked and pouting, with big hair and lots of make-up, than in shy, gangly teenagers with stars in their eyes.
Shit, she was too young and innocent for me now, despite her tattoos and punk rock hair. But she wanted me…
It’s not you.
Oh, I knew that. But that didn’t matter. I’d take what I could get.
I reached down and laid a finger across that sweet pouty mouth, just because I could. Because I wanted to.
Her breath caught.
‘Don’t talk,’ I said. ‘No questions, no arguments. No protests. You do what I say when I say it. Nod if you agree.’
I took my finger away and then, bending my head, I covered her mouth with mine.
The rush of her indrawn breath was loud and she went utterly still. Her mouth was soft and warm. I’d intended the merest brush of my lips against hers, but the heat of her swept through me like light through a dark room. And, before I knew what I was doing, I’d thrust my fingers in her hair, gripping onto the short, silky strands, easing her head back as I coaxed her to open for me with my tongue.
For a second she remained rigid in my hold, as if she hadn’t yet made up her mind whether she wanted to or not. Then a little moan escaped her, her mouth opened under mine and all her heat rushed into me.
I didn’t have a lot of feeling in my torso, not with all the scar tissue, so I used my mouth instead, and I liked to spend a lot of time kissing. Not for the intimacy of it, but for the sensation. For the heat and the taste. For the softness.
And she was all of those things. All of those things and more. Hot. Sweet. Rich. Like a chocolate fudge sundae. She might be spiky on the outside, and challenging and tart, but inside she was all melted sugar and warm honey.
I pushed my tongue deeper into her mouth, tilting her head back so I had better access, exploring her and taking my time about it, my free hand gripping her jaw, holding her still as I ravaged her mouth, tasting her as deeply as I could, then nipping at the full curve of her bottom lip.
She tried to kiss me back, a moan vibrating in her throat, and I let her, loving how her tongue made shy forays into my mouth, tasting me as I was tasting her.
God, if I’d known she’d taste this good, I wouldn’t have let myself get distracted by cheerleaders, that was for fucking sure.