“Fuck!”
He slammed his dresser door shut with a hard bang then dressed as fast as he could. He grabbed a bottle of blood out of his cabinet and started chugging as he left the room. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off of her. Especially off the idea of her naked with his hands on her—something that couldn’t and wouldn’t happen, it seemed.
Shit. The image of her lithe body writhing against his last night, her face, her pouty lips so close to his zipper wouldn’t go away. Little did she know, he’d gone rock hard and he’d had a brief little fantasy of pulling his cock out right there to feel her lips wrap around it. Old fucking pervert.
She’s mated, his mind reminded him.
She also hates his disgusting guts.
Things were going to get dangerous if he didn’t get his libido and shit under wraps. Hell, if he didn’t, then she might just find herself under him, legs spread wide.
He turned into the kitchen, then stopped dead in his tracks. All thoughts, all protests, everything, stopped. His tongue dried up like all the moisture suddenly evaporated from the air around him. Vanessa was bent over with the refrigerator door open. She had a pink strappy shirt on that clung to her back and also rode up...a lot, revealing a lot of tan, smooth skin and the indention of her spine. In a powerful rush, his cock hardened like a damn pike.
His gaze fell lower and almost everything he’d wondered about her ass was right there at hip level. If he just came forward, his hips would press tight against her soft cheeks. If he just slipped those shorts down her hips, eased his zipper down, he could...
What the hell did she think she was wearing? Pink, little shorts and tight ones, too. He could see where her thighs met the rounded cheeks. Hell, the little scrap of cloth just covered her cheeks and hips and nothing else.
Her dark hair moved as she turned, her gaze locking on him. Her amber eyes turned to pure ice and then she returned to the fridge, grabbed some juice, and closed the door. She moved around the kitchen, pouring herself a glass and returning the juice jug, never once meeting his eyes again. She steadfastly ignored him as if he wasn’t there watching her. He didn’t like that, not one bit.
“Vanessa, we need to talk.” He swigged down the last of the blood, crushed the plastic container in his fist, and tossed it into the trash.
Her shoulders jumped as if she’d laughed, but he didn’t hear a sound. She kept her back to him as she finished her drink and rinsed it out.
His eyes strayed down to her legs. They looked like they went on forever, looking smooth and shiny in the light. His voice turned deeper as he said, “You are going to talk to me, Vanessa.”
This time she did laugh. She spun to face him and what she did next made it very hard for him not to stroll right over there and keep her mouth busy with his. She leaned back against the sink, her elbows on the counter, one foot kicked back to rest against the cabinet.
“And just what did you want to talk about, Brayden?”
Her smart mouth was going to get her into trouble if she didn’t can it. “I don’t think you’re a slut and I never said that. You took it wrong.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, sounding bored.
He rolled his neck, but it did nothing to ease the tight pain there. “Next time you want to play some shit like that going to a club, you’re telling me first.”
“Why? Are you going to go with me and make sure I’m safe? Are you going to dance with me too, Bray?”
“You won’t call me that if you know what’s good for you,” he warned. “And no, I’m not dancing with you, but I’ll make sure you stay safe from roaming hands and assholes with rufies.”
She lifted her eyebrows and nodded slowly. “Well, Bray, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t plan to head back to the club any time soon. That’s not my next goal.”
The air conditioner kicked on and the vent in the kitchen blew up across her. He watched, helpless, as her shirt waved against her flat stomach like a beckoning sign to come touch her. Then her nipples puckered from the cold, turning into little hard points against her shirt.
He turned his head away which he found much more difficult than it should be. “Go get changed, then we’ll talk.”
Her low, sultry laughter rolled over him. “Why?”
“Because you’re wearing little more than nothing and I want you to change. Do it now, Vanessa, and don’t press me.”
He heard her bare footsteps coming close and lifted his gaze to watch her. She wore an angry but proactive glare. “Does Bray Bray have a problem with half-nekkie Vanessa?” She tucked her thumbs into the spaghetti straps of her shirt and tugged on them like overalls.
His chest turned into a tight mess. Every muscle in his body tensed, flexing, to keep his hands from reaching forward. Just an extension of his arm and he could have her pressed right against him. Didn’t she know that? The silly woman had no idea how much trouble she could be in. Hell, trouble she would be in if she kept up the attitude.
“Don’t call me that, woman,” he warned.
Her lips curled into a grin. “What, I need to change because Bray Bray can’t stand a little skin? I thought you were immune to such things?” Her thumbs ran up and down the strap, rubbing the cotton of her top up and down her nipple.
He couldn’t control his next response.
He snapped.
He moved in a flash and had her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers, his tongue inside in a heartbeat. God, she tasted good. Fresh, womanly, and a little like citrus. He took her mouth hard and wet. When the hands shoving against his chest stopped and reared up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer like she’d die if she didn’t, he wanted to send a prayer of thanks up above.
But the kiss wasn’t enough. His hands needed to feel. He cupped her ass and squeezed, a groan leaving him at the soft, pliable skin he found there, and lifted her up. Her legs went around him, a soft gasp blowing over him, then his mouth moved down to ruthlessly latch onto a nipple.
Her hands moved into his hair and tugged on the strands which made his cock throb. “You have sweet nipples,” he said against her breast. A whiney moan left her and she thrust her chest forward, eager.
His mind raged with need, the urge to take, and he couldn’t control it. He walked and when her back hit the refrigerator, only his hands on her lush ass keeping her up, he released her nipple. With a tuck of his chin, he caught the top of her shirt and pushed it down to reveal her breast.
“Fuck...” He met her eyes and found them hungry, soft, and more than a little needy. “I’m going to suck on that, baby. Tell me now if you don’t want me to...” That’s the only warning he could give her.
He only had to wait a second before she nodded eagerly and his shoulders relaxed. He pressed his lips to her collarbone then trailed them down. Her breasts were fucking perfect. Soft and pert and gorgeous with dusky brown nipples. His tongue darted out and lapped around the hard puckered tip. Her hips thrust against him in response and he couldn’t keep his mouth from sucking her deep, nor keep his hands from threading under her little shorts to cup and squeeze bare skin. She made soft, sexy-as-fuck sounds in the back of her throat that sent his blood pumping way too fast and his cock throbbing way too hard. God, she was soft everywhere.