Page 19 of Made for Cyn
Just being near him has my stomach all fluttery, and I’m mentally cautioning myself to stay calm when he reaches out and traces his finger down my collarbone. Goosebumps rise in its wake as the pad of his finger creates a pounding pulse of pleasure in my system.
Suppressing a whimper, I hold as still as possible. My core is decidedly wet at the soft caress, but I have a sinking sensation he already knows what he does to me.
“Where’s your phone?” he says gruffly, pulling away.
My skin is chilly in the absence of his warm touch, and with a shiver, I avert my gaze. “I don’t have one.”
Every part of my body is buzzing with awareness, just from a single finger on my skin. What would it be like for him to touch me . . . there?
“What? No phone?” he asks with a frown.
“We hardly had use for them on the farm,” I say tartly, and he lifts my chin, pulling my head around.
His jade eyes are dark with frustration and he grabs my hair with his other hand. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“Not my problem.” The sane part of me wonders just what the heck I’m doing as I bait the bull.
Chuffing, he pulls me close and drops his mouth to mine, his warm lips soft. I gasp and open when he bites my bottom lip, squirming under the rush of fire erupting in my core.
His mouth curves against my lips and he presses inside, licking the roof of my mouth. Dizzy under the onslaught, I whimper and grab his arms, my fingers warm under his skin.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling me onto his lap and hugging me close.
Holding on for the ride, I shift above him, desire curling through me when he wraps his tongue around mine once again. Desperate for more, I follow his lead, and when he bucks between my thighs, a thrill rushes through me.
I’m lost to the sensation, rocking against him, clutching his shoulders to stay grounded when he grabs my neck and pulls me closer. At the contact, my nipples brush against his chest, which causes fire to ratchet in my veins, but when he touches my breast, molding it between his hands, I pull back, panting for air.
He looks at me with glittering eyes, and I lower my lashes, whispering shyly, “I’ve never . . .”
His eyes shutter and he drops his hand, a stark look crossing his features before he mutters, “God save me from fucking virgins.”
Like a slap to the face, I rear back and slide from his lap. Clenching my hand until the pain from my nails raking my palm supersedes that which pulses in my chest, I frown—what a way to ruin a perfectly wonderful moment and a first for me on many levels.
With a sigh, he rubs his hands through his hair and says gruffly, “You’ll need a phone.”
“Why?” I whisper, staring at my hands.
“Because, beauty, I should’ve known the second you made a pit stop.”
“So, I’m to tattle on everything she does?” I ask with disbelief. “No!”
“Yes.” He grabs my chin once more, and when I try to pull away, he tightens his hold.
“Don’t touch me,” I say shakily, and his eyes narrow, but he lets me go.
We stare at each other silently until he says coolly, “Fine. But let’s be clear. Soon, you’ll be begging me to touch you—everywhere.”
What? Of all the arrogant things to assume!
My eyes widen. “Never!”
“Oh, beauty, I do love a challenge.” He smirks, grabbing his dick through his jeans and massaging it lewdly.
I should be offended or even grossed out, but instead, I clench in delicate places as he taunts me. “Hmm, ready to beg?”
