"No I'm not."
He unzips my jacket, slides it off. Tosses it carelessly aside. Forces me another step backward.
"You remember. I see it in your eyes, love. And you want it. Don't you?"
"Want what?"
"By all means, carry on playin' dumb. It's cute, but I know better. You're razor sharp, and make no mistake about that. Much smarter than me, I'd wager." He presses me backward another step, two, three.
He bends down, nipping my earlobe in his teeth, breath hot, body hard against mine. His hands grasp my ass, squeezing hard enough that I squeak in protest.
"This fuckin' arse, Bryn. Jesus. Taut as a fuckin' drum." He yanks my pullover fleece up and off, hurls it one way. Shirt next, gone like the other. "You need a reminder of what I said I'd do?"
Another step backward, and then I catch up against cold glass with a hollow, echoing thump. "I…I might need a brief refresher, yes." I'm proud of how casual I sound, when inside, I’m anything but.
Nervous, excited, maybe a little afraid. Desperately shielding myself from thinking about anything or anyone that might pull me out of this moment, I run my hands up his chest, palming the firm swell of his powerful pecs. Brush his leather off, let it flop to the floor.
He toes the jacket aside. Kneels in front of me, lifts my foot, and tugs my boot off. My sock. The other foot. Rises to his feet and runs a fingertip down my centerline from throat to navel.
"Fuck, you're beautiful, you know that?" He hooks a finger behind the button of my jeans.
"It's nice to be told," I answer. "Remind me what you said, though. I really don't remember."
He opens my jeans. Steps back. "Take 'em off for me, Bryn."
In just a maroon Henley, his arms cross over his chest, thick and rippling in the tight sleeves. His chiseled jaw is hard, eyes burning with erotic promise.
I wiggle my hips to shimmy out of the jeans, which I toss to him. "Shirt off, Rush."
He lets the jeans hit his chest and drop to the floor, that damned cocky smirk on his lips. "I don't think so."
He steps into me, framing me with his huge, powerful arms, hands on the glass beside my ears. His lips touch the side of my neck, and I tip my head to offer him better access. "Take off your bra, Bryn. I need to see those perfect tits."
"Shirt first."
He rumbles a laugh. "Funny, you thinkin' you're in charge." He nips my earlobe, sending heat shimmering through me from chest to core, making butterflies flutter in my belly. "You want to do what I say."
"Do I, though?"
I do. I really fucking do. But I'm not about to let him know that.
He touches his lips to my breastbone. The swell of my breast. "Yeah, love, you do. Wanna know why?"
"Yes," I breathe.
"What I promised you back on the train was I’d get you naked, press you up against this very window, and fuck you until you don't remember your own name." His voice is dark and rough and heavy with arousal, a hoarse, raspy, rumbling growl that makes me shiver and shake. God, I could almost get off just from the shit he says in that low, throbbing voice of his.
"Fuck," I whisper—the epithet ripped out of me at his dirty promise.
"You want that, don't you?" He cups my sex over my panties.
"Maybe."
"I like this game." He trails a fingertip up my seam over my underwear.
"What game?" I breathe.
He tips my head up with a finger to my chin, kisses my throat. With his other hand, he teases my pussy over the fabric, finger sliding up and down, up and down, always lingering over my clit, reminding me what he can do to me with just one finger.
