Page 37 of Alpha Chained
There’s no mistaking what’s pressing up against me, but he doesn’t seem aware of it. I certainly am. “Right. Shift change at 0300 hours,” I repeat parrot-fashion.
“There’s a window period when the locks disengage so the guards can come through. We’ll have eight minutes,” he adds. “We’ll be ready when that happens. You’ll need to do exactly as I say.”
“And then what?” I whisper.
“And then you keep doing exactly what I say,” he says.
He still has my hips clamped against his. A whimper slips from my lips as delicious heat blossoms between my thighs. “Okay,” I manage, trying to keep my tone even despite the thundering of my heart. It doesn’t work. The word comes out choked. I hold myself stiffly, setting my hands on his shoulders.
Riot’s free hand slides into my soaked hair, angling my face up. “You need to act natural,” he speaks low, his stormy eyes darkening. “Touch me like you want me.”
Act? Hah! I don’t have to act.
“Okay,” I whisper again as, with trembling hands, I trace the thick muscles of his arms and then down his chest until I reach the ridges of his abdomen, the defined V disappearing beneath the water. I pull in a breath as I reach his rock-hard cock. My fingertips graze the tip where it’s pressed up against his belly.
“Raura, I didn’t mean…” he growls. It sounds like a warning. A warning that I ignore as I trace the thick length of his shaft. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he leans forward, the intensity in his gaze stealing my breath as I stare back at him.
When his lips brush mine, I lose myself in the moment, in the strength of his body against mine beneath the water. His mouth is warm, his tongue snaking past my lips, a light graze of stubble brushing my chin. I clutch at him as we drink each other in, all thoughts of escape fleeing.
God, what am I doing?
I’m sure this is a bad idea, but I can’t seem to help myself. I cling to Riot, our bodies pressed together as our kiss grows hungrier, more frantic. His hands roam over my slick skin as mine map the hard planes of his muscular back and shoulders. I can’t get enough of the taste of him, the scent of his skin mingling with the steam.
Our kisses grow feverish, all restraint forgotten as desire takes over. I whimper into his mouth when he cups my breast, my body bowing in response. He slides his other hand between us, his fingers delving between my thighs, finding the molten heat of my pussy. My nails dig into the muscles of his biceps as I grind shamelessly against his hand.
Yes! Oh God, yes!
And then he stops.
Riot tears his lips from mine with a ragged groan. We’re both panting heavily, our chests heaving as we stare at each other in shock at the intensity of our shared need.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his voice gravelly. “It’s been…a very long time.”
Disappointment lances through me at his implication that this is purely physical, a response to years of deprivation rather than any deeper longing specifically for me. I drop my eyes, flushing with embarrassment at how desperately aroused I am, my nipples aching and my core throbbing with want.
“It’s okay,” I mumble, unable to meet his intense stare. “I’m sorry, too. I got carried away.”
“That’s understandable,” he says, his voice still low. “This is a…difficult situation.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure,” I squeak out.
‘Difficult’ barely covers it.
“We should get out of here.” He switches off the water and reaches out for a towel. I try not to squeeze my eyes shut when he wraps it around me, carefully securing it over my breasts.
Dead. I’m just dead.
The man could have had me right here, right now, if he’d wanted. And yet here he is, acting like a perfect gentleman.
There are more important things to think about, Raura!
Like getting out of here.
I step awkwardly out of the shower, aware that he’s getting out behind me, but too busy walking quickly out of the bathroom to look back at him. My hair clings wetly to my rapidly cooling skin, and I shiver as I get into the bedroom, wishing I’d thought to retrieve the clothing I’d been wearing.
Still wrapped in the towel, I’m perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed when he emerges from the bathroom. He has a towel, too, and it’s wrapped around his lean hips, tiny droplets clinging to his skin. Who could blame them? A moment ago, I was clinging to his skin too.
God, you’re an idiot, Raura!