His fingers tightened around mine. “You.”
“Me what?”
He lowered further, and I could feel his breath on my face, the sweet scent of him dragging into my lungs with each inhale. “I don’t sleep around, and you turn me on.”
“Me?” My voice cracked, and my chest heaved in and out.
“Yes.”
“What?” Was my skin tingling? It felt like I was on fire. Were we on fire? Was the barn burning down?
“You heard me.”
“Oh.” Holy bejesus. Five weeks he’d been teaching me self defense, and in those five sexually frustrating weeks I’d been dreaming of him kissing me, touching me, his hands gripping my thighs as he pressed me against the wall, his mouth devouring every inch of my naked body.
He leaned in further. I swear my breath was sucked from my lungs by some mysterious, high-powered vacuum that was hanging above me, because I couldn’t breathe. Being scared and excited does something to your body. The emotions put you into overdrive with trembling limbs, heart pounding, and that sweet ache between your legs. I knew how to satisfy myself, but this . . . this could put my orgasms to shame, because this guy rocketed my body into another dimension.
“Shh, relax Mouse.” The scruff on his face rubbed against the underside of my chin as he kissed my neck. “I’ve been taking you down on the mat for five weeks now . . . feeling your curves beneath me.” He kissed my ear, a nibble on my lobe that sent a spark right through my body, and my fingers tightened around his. “I don’t play games, Eme. If you feel what I do then your time is up.”
“Um, what does that mean?”
“It means I don’t screw around. No games. You’re into me, so now I’m taking you.”
Holy crap. I was trembling, and all I could think about was him taking me. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t giving you a choice. Too late for that.”
“Oh.”
He kissed my chin, then along my jaw line. “Eme, you’re something sweet, and I want sweet. Wanted it for a while now.”
Damn it, kiss me, I screamed. Bad, wrong, or whatever, I wanted him to kiss me.
He pushed back, and I panicked, eyes widening at the thought he was going to leave. Instead, Sculpt stared down at me for several seconds, then released one of my hands and stroked the side of my face until his finger reached my jaw line.
“I kiss you Emily . . . there’s no going back. No other guy kisses you, touches you, or gets to taste what’s mine. I don’t share.”
I started to laugh but quickly frowned. He didn’t look like he was joking. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah, Emily, I am. I don’t share, and I don’t like to lose—ever.” My mouth gaped with shock. Was he kidding me? No, he looked serious, and he was distracting me again with his finger tracing over my ear and then down my neck and back.
“I’m not something to win, Sculpt.”
He huffed. “Yeah you are, Mouse. You’re a trophy. I’ve known that for weeks.”
I gasped. Wow. Just wow.
His finger drew a line down my neck into the hollow then over my collar bone and kept going. “This part right here.” He circled his finger right above the crevice between my breasts. “Is hot. When you’re turned on, it heats up like your cheeks.” He leaned down and kissed the spot, then his tongue traced where his finger had been.
“Sculpt.” My breathing was harsh, and I felt as if my insides had just been set off by a land mine. “Sculpt.”
He raised his head, and his eyes were magnificent, blazing with lust. “Yes?”
He didn’t wait for a response as he trailed kisses up my throat until he hovered over my mouth, barely touching, both of us breathing hard. I lifted my head to try and reach his lips, but he moved back, and I moaned with frustration.
“What’s your full name, Emily?”
“Emily McAughtrie.”
“Emily McAughtrie” The way he said my name sent shivers sprinting across my skin in a heated fever. “I’m going to kiss you now, Miss McAughtrie.”
His mouth came down on mine before I had time to suck in air, and it was hard, possessive and . . . all encompassing. His tongue slipped between my lips then swirled within the heated wetness. He let go of my other wrist, and my hands came down to touch him— fingers curling in his hair while the others caressed his back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt.
His hands were everywhere, holding my head as he deepened the kiss, then running down the side of my body. Every part of me was alive in that one moment. He was ruining me for all other men. There was no other guy who could ever make my body feel more alive than Sculpt did.
“Eme.” He kissed the corner of my lips, then my eyes, then my temple. “This needs to stop.”
“No.” I pulled him down, tilting my head so his lips could take mine again. He groaned as ours mouths met, and I sighed beneath his warmth, suckling on his tongue and sinking my fingernails into his back and dragging down.
It was like I was starving. I couldn’t get enough of him. Comparable to living in gray for years and suddenly Sculpt had woke me up, and I saw a rainbow of color.
He suddenly rolled over and threw his arm over his face, his breathing erratic, chest heaving. “No, Eme. We need to go.”
“Oh.” Did he not like my kiss? I knew I wasn’t that experienced, but it felt like he’d been into it.