Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
15
ROBIN
I hold his gaze.
A flicker of doubt crosses his face. Tension creeps into his shoulders.
He should hesitate.
He does hesitate.
“You’re restrained for a reason,” he says.
I tilt my head. “We’re locked inside. You’re armed. I’m not.”
He twists his lips.
“You already proved you can overpower me,” I add. “If I try anything, you’ll stop me.”
A pause.
“You know that.”
Another pause.
I can almost see his brain working. Risk versus control. Instinct versus…whatever this is between us right now.
Finally, he exhales. “Don’t make me regret this.”
He steps closer, reaching for the restraints at my wrists. His fingers brush my skin as he works the knots loose, and something electric flickers through me before I can stop it.
God.
The second the ropes give, my arms drop, tingling as circulation rushes back in.
He unbinds my ankles.
I stand, making sure I’m steady on my feet, and then I reach for the hem of my top, pull it loose, gather the fabric behind my back, and tie it there. It lifts the front, exposing my stomach, the curve of my waist.
He stares, not subtly. Heat blooms low in my belly. I force myself to ignore it.
I roll up the cuffs of my pants, freeing my ankles, and give myself room to move. When I look back up at him, his gaze is locked on me.
“Belly dancing,” I say quietly, “is about emotion. It’s a celebration of childbirth.” I shift my hips slightly. “It’s not just movement.”
I draw in a breath, centering myself.
Then I start.
Small movements at first.
A roll of my hips. A shift through my core.
His eyes follow.
I let it build gradually, finding rhythm without music. Letting my body find its own cadence in the quiet of the room.
There’s a strange freedom in it.
I move closer without making it obvious. One step. Then another.
His breathing changes.
I notice everything.
The way his shoulders tighten. The way his hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
Good.
I keep going.
By the time I’m close enough to touch him, neither of us is pretending anymore.
I stop in front of him.
For a heartbeat, we just look at each other. Then I close the distance, push him down onto the cot, and lower myself into his lap.
His breath hitches.
He lets his hands hover for a second—like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me—before he settles them at my hips. The contact sends a sharp rush through me.
I swallow.
He’s hard.
Still.
I knew he would be.
I feel it now, undeniable, pressing against me.
And again—
That traitorous, confusing spark flares low in my body.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve used this before. I know how to read men. How to give them just enough to keep them off balance. To make them hesitate. To make them want.
But this—
This is different.
I’m not just pretending.
This time, I’m feeling it too.
I lift my hand and brush it along the side of his stubbled jaw. He leans into it, just slightly.
My breath catches. “You don’t want to hurt me,” I murmur.
His eyes darken. “You don’t know what I want.”
Maybe not.
But I know what I’m doing to him. And I know what he’s doing to me.
I shift closer. Closer again, until there’s no space left between us.
This isn’t just strategy anymore. This isn’t just survival.
There’s something else here. Something dangerous. Something I shouldn’t touch.
But I do anyway.
I lean in slowly, watching his face, giving him every chance to stop me.
He doesn’t.
So I press my lips to his.
16
CRUZ
Her lips are so soft on mine. I know they’re dry and chapped, but that’s not how they feel. It’s like kissing a rose petal, or a silk handkerchief.
It’s over too fucking soon, and I lean forward—
But she slants away, moving from my lap and back onto the floor where she shifts her hips again, and then circles her chest, her head, all in a way that makes her seem like she’s somewhere else, wearing veils and jewels and finger cymbals.
Fuck…
I shouldn’t be watching this. I shouldn’t be getting so excited.
Yet here I am, and a moment later, I’m leaning back onto the cot, my gaze never wavering from her swaying body, her pink lips, her dark hair.
I want her on my lap again. I could easily rise, yank her down here with me.
But I don’t want to. I can’t get enough of watching her twist her hips, circle her arms, move her neck just so. It mesmerizes me.
She lifts one hip and then the other, and then she slides her finger underneath the edge of her shirt, and—
A flash later she’s wearing only her bra, her tits jiggling like ripe peaches.
She’s so beautiful, so—
She’s on my lap again, and I can’t help it. I lean into her, inhale the fragrance of her breasts. It’s musky and sexy and it drives me insane.
She leans down, kisses me again…and this time it’s not a gentle peck.
No.
It’s a bruising and open-mouthed kiss.