Now, I put myself in a situation where I can’t even have that much.
“Tell me what you need, Candice.” His voice turns hoarse, that slight echo shifting into the tone. I know if I were to open my eyes, I’d see pitch-black eyes on his handsome face staring back at me.
“Time,” I answer honestly. I just need time to work this out.
“Okay.” He gaze is so soft. “That’s fair. Anything else?”
“Distract me,” I say.
His muscles tense, hands tightening on my waist. Sharp claws press into my skin, immediately causing my heart to race.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” he says in a low growl that does things to my body. “Because I don’t know if you want what I have in mind.”
I laugh nervously. I think I very much want what he has in mind, but that doesn’t make it a good idea.
“Maybe I should get the handcuffs out?” he offers more softly.
A flood of power and relief rushes through me. I’m not so sure I want to get out of bed and do something quite so active, but the idea is delicious anyway.
He knows—just as Laithe did—I crave control. It’s my weakness.
My deal with Bea gave me some control. Gave me a way to do something, but it also trapped me in a new way. It tore me away from Jarron’s team for a little while. And now that he’s here, I’m faced with that reality.
I don’t like it at all.
“No,” I whisper. But I spin and pull myself over his chest, straddling his waist.
His eyes flare. There, that power is what I need.
“But you’re onto something,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss him. He meets my kiss, opening deeply. His taste envelops me when his soft tongue meets mine.
I rock against him—dangerous, dangerous territory.
I would like to do so much more with him. I know he wants that too.
I run my hands down his biceps to his forearms and his wrists, pulling them up and squeezing them together. I continue exploring his lips and tongue with mine. He writhes beneath me, moaning deep in his throat.
I like that a lot.
I bite his lip hard, and he hisses, “Fuck, Candice.”
I grin. “Not tonight,” I whisper.
He growls softly. I pull back enough to admire the sight of this powerful, sexy-as-sin man beneath me, willingly at my mercy, willing to give me anything I want. His stomach muscles are tight, his pecs stretched, and his dark eyes pierce me with their intensity.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I demand, voice low.
“I’m thinking about all the things I’m desperate to do to you.”
My eyes flare. “Tell me,” I say breathlessly.
His eyebrows rise. “Candice,” he says. “My thoughts are—”
“Tell me,” I demand.
His jaw clenches. “I’m thinking about flipping you off of me and changing forms just to see that look on your face again.”
I flush. “What look?”
