Sophie Jordan - Tease

He nodded grimly. “It’s the Marines, right? Some come home. Some don’t. We knew that before we went over there. I lost three in my unit in the first tour . . . and then I signed up again because I was determined to make it matter. To make a difference.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest, unsure what to say. I wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of stuff. To talk to guys about anything serious. “You did.”

He grunted. “How do you know that?”

I opened my mouth, realizing that I didn’t. There wasn’t anything I could say that supported the claim, but I just knew. Looking at him, I knew. He had done something with his life. He had lived. He had worked for something bigger than himself.

And that’s how I knew.

I was in trouble. Everything that set him apart from the other guys was what drew me.

Maybe it was this giddy realization. Maybe it was because I still had alcohol buzzing through my system, but a sudden, heady impulse seized me.

Turning, I faced him. Whatever he saw in my face made him freeze. Watching me like he was the prey—for a change—I rose up on my knees beside him. Holding his gaze, I pulled my sweater over my head and tossed it to the floor.

His eyes darkened, traveling over me. I ran a hand over my dark pink bra, lightly caressing the lacy cup.

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon. You act like you haven’t seen me in a bra before. I think you’ve seen me in less than this.”

I slowly settled onto his lap, slipping my knees on either side of his hips.

“That was different. You’re conscious now.”

I smiled coyly, angling my head to the side. I pressed a finger to his lips, enjoying touching him, enjoying the sensation of that mouth that I knew could kiss me until I was quivering and useless for anything else. “Can you let me do this?”

“Be in charge? Something tells me you’re used to that.” His eyes glinted at me, but he didn’t make a move.

I took that as acceptance. Smiling, I lowered my head and pressed my open mouth to his neck. I licked and sucked at the salty-clean taste of his skin. I felt him sigh, his breath rustling my hair. Sitting back up, my hands dove for the hem of his shirt. I tugged it up. He lifted his arms, helping me pull it over his head. The sight that greeted me punched the air right out of my chest.

He was lean and hard. His torso cut and defined. My gaze dropped to his abs. Screw six-pack. I counted. Was that an eight-pack?

A large tattoo covered the skin of his left pec, crawling up onto his shoulder. My fingers chased the pattern of an eagle atop a globe and anchor. I recognized it as the Marine insignia. The name Adam was etched into the anchor, including the years of his birth and death. My chest tightened at further evidence that this guy was different. Special.

His breathing sawed roughly from his lips and when I lowered my mouth to his chest, it kicked up a notch as I laved my tongue over him.

His hands came up to circle my ribs. I allowed that. Until they crept up to my breasts, and then I grabbed his wrists.

“Nuh-uh,” I murmured, smiling down at him as I pressed his hands to the mattress.

He stared up at me in frustration. “I want to touch you.”

“I do the touching. Just relax.” I pushed him back on the bed beneath me. Sitting over him, I felt empowered. Maybe I could have him, after all. Maybe he was someone I could control. I knew my game. Knew what worked. He wasn’t going to hurt me. I could handle the situation. Handle him.

I took one last glimpse of his face, the dark, gleaming eyes fastened on me, before lowering to his chest. I kissed the broad expanse, using my tongue and teeth on the firm flesh. Gentle, butterfly kisses. Long, open-mouthed moist ones. I lavished him with my mouth and hands. His jaw, his neck. I fanned my breath in his ear before biting down on the lobe. He tensed beneath me with a groan and I knew I was getting to him. I felt drunk and it had nothing to do with the alcohol I had consumed tonight. I was high on him.

He tried to kiss me and I dodged his mouth. I was already perilously close to losing my resolve when it came to him. I needed to avoid his kisses. They turned my brain to mush.

“Let me kiss you,” he commanded, arching his head off the bed toward me.

I pushed him back down with the flat of my palm and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “No kissing.”

“Emerson.” His eyes flashed at me. “I want your mouth.”

“Oh, you’re going to get it,” I promised silkily.

“On mine,” he qualified.

I just grinned. “I promise you’ll enjoy wherever . . .” I kissed his collarbone. “I . . .” The pulse point on his neck. “Kiss . . .” The center of his chest. “You . . .” My lips trailed down the center of his chest, skimming warm, taut skin.

His hands drifted back to my waist, the rough palms caressing the exposed flesh above my waistband. It was tempting to let his hands remain there, but I moved them back to his sides.

“Let me touch you,” he growled.

I tsked my tongue and dropped my hands to his jeans. My fingers closed expertly around the snap and tugged the denim open.

“Emerson,” he said, warning thick in his voice. “You won’t let me touch you . . . kiss you . . . this isn’t—”

“Sssh,” I admonished, dragging the teeth of his zipper down with a slow, gratifying sing, exposing the tented front of his boxers. Without touching him, I pulled the slit in his boxers wide, exposing him to the air.

He sprang free. I bit my lip to keep my gasp from escaping at the bold, beautiful sight of him. He was hard, jutting forward, ready for me. I blew a warm breath gently over the tip of him.

“Fuck, Emerson,” he choked out.

“No,” I softly reprimanded, kissing him just above his navel. “None of that, remember?”

“You need to stop,” he growled, his body quivering beneath me.

I touched the tip of him with one gentle fingertip. “Why?” I taunted, looking at him from beneath hooded eyes. He stared at me, a muscle feathering along his locked jaw. “Don’t you want me to kiss you here?”

“Not like this.”

I pouted. “Like how then?”

“I don’t need you giving me a blow job.”

My pout turned into an actual frown. What guy didn’t want a BJ? “I bet I can change your mind.” I lowered my head, but his hands circled my arms and pulled me up before I could make contact.

His eyes glittered, looking almost angry. “What are you doing?”

“Apparently nothing you’re into,” I snapped, trying to pull my arms free of his grip, but he held fast, each of his fingers a burning imprint. I felt the strength of him, the power of him, tightly restrained beneath me.

“What’s the matter? The only way you’ll let me close is if I play by your rules?”

His words were right on the mark. I nodded, stung by his rejection of what I was offering. “You catch on real quick.”

“Maybe I have a few rules of my own.”

My heart skipped at the dangerous glint in his eyes. Immediately, I sensed the tables had been turned. He had taken control of the situation—or was trying to.

“I think we’re done here,” I said, managing to sound cool.

He shook his head at me slowly and I was reminded of the first time I’d seen him and the realization that this guy wouldn’t be so easy to control. I immediately told myself to keep my distance then. Too bad I didn’t listen to myself. Now I was in the exact situation I didn’t want to be in. Trapped.

I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. That wasn’t my fear. My fear wasn’t him. It was me. It was in me. It was losing control, giving someone else power over me.

His fingers flexed around my forearms. His eyes dipped to assess me in my pink satin bra. “We’re just getting started. It’s my turn now.”

SHAW’S MOUTH COVERED MINE and what I didn’t want to happen did. My brain turned to mush. He had a way of kissing me that consumed me, that melted my bones and made me pudding in his hands.

I still had some resolve left in me. Just enough to squeeze my hands between us and shove at that brick wall of a chest. He moved the barest inch. I was able to tear my lips away. I opened my mouth to demand that he stop and get out of my room, but suddenly he flipped me over on the bed.

On my back, I gasped, speech lost at the sensation of his big body over me, between my splayed thighs. His hand flexed on my thigh, beneath my skirt, searing me through my tights, and I found myself wishing I wasn’t wearing tights so that I could feel his palm on my bare skin.

He took advantage of my open mouth and claimed my lips in a kiss again, his tongue colliding with mine. His weight felt delicious, pinning me to the bed without hurting me. A dazed fog rolled over me, obliterating all thought, all logic. There was only sensation.

His lips ate hungrily from mine. Devouring is the only word. When his hands found my breasts and cupped them through the bra, liquid heat coursed through me. He kneaded the small mounds and I parted my legs wider, inviting him without words.

He sank deeper between my legs. My skirt was hiked up to my hips, my purple tights a barrier that kept us from direct contact, but I still felt him there, his erection hard and probing, rubbing against me, pushing and prodding as if he could reach gratification that way. I didn’t see how. The pressure and friction of him there drove me mad. I wanted more. I wanted it harder. Deeper.

I dug my fingers into his biceps and bucked against him, grinding my pelvis to his.

“Shit,” he cursed, breaking his mouth from mine. Before I had time to mourn the loss, his hand was yanking one bra cup down, pulling the strap tighter across my shoulder. His warm mouth closed over my left nipple, taking the entire tip and pulling it deep into the wet warmth of his mouth.