Page 42 of Over the Line
He saw her as so much more than a bottom who yearned for a taste of adventure without commitment.
And the more of her secrets that he uncovered, the more he wanted to reveal.
Studying her, he asked, “Which order would you like to go in? First to last? Or last to first?”
When she didn’t respond, he suggested, “We could start with the second option. Having your body pressed against my cock will save you a few seconds on the blow job.”
He’d be willing to bet she had no idea how expressive her face was. When something interested her, her lips parted slightly. And that made him want her even more.
Seeing her here, now, in what he assumed was her typical attire, hiking pants and sturdy boots, with her hair ravaged from their sex the night before, wearing no makeup, and dressed in one of his shirts, she hid behind no artifice.
Earlier, when she’d touched his face in bed, he’d considered letting her know he was awake.
He was a notoriously light sleeper, aware of every noise inside and outside the house. But the opportunity to observe Sydney’s unguarded moments had been irresistible, despite the hormones urging him to grab her, pin her beneath him, and slake his morning lust.
He’d heard her moving around the kitchen, then smelled the aroma of brewing coffee. He’d taken his time pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. But before he’d made it down the stairs, the snick of a door closing reached him.
When he’d noticed her leather dress remained artfully draped across the back of the barstool and her purse still sat on the counter, he’d sighed with relief. At least she hadn’t left without saying goodbye.
Part of him had expected exactly that. After all, Gregorio had warned Michael about the way she discarded Doms.
Curious about what she was up to, he’d grabbed a cup of coffee.
As a testament to how much he enjoyed having her here, he’d grinned when he noticed she’d taken the cream from the top of the milk.
Barefoot, he’d wandered to the window, where he’d enjoyed watching her interact with Chewie.
He’d always figured he could learn a lot about a person based on the way they treated animals.
When she’d tentatively reached out to pet the goat behind the ears, he’d smiled. Chewie was a decent judge of character, much like some dogs Michael had owned.
Taking his time, he’d headed upstairs to finish dressing. While he’d been putting on his clothes, he’d been mentally removing hers.
Now he intended to do it in reality. “I’m going to kiss you like I fucking own you.”
While he put down his coffee and stood, she remained firmly on the rock, unmoving, but not protesting.
Capturing her shoulders, he pulled her to her feet.
Then he dug a hand into her hair and captured her gaze. How easy it would be to lose himself in the blue depths of her eyes. They communicated her true emotion better than anything that came out of her mouth. If she knew what he saw, she’d be terrified.
“Sir, I’d rather we just—”
“Sydney? Use your safe word or shut the hell up.” He pulled her between his legs.
Slowly, he brushed his lips across hers. “They’re soft.”
“I’ve made a choice. I’ll just suck you off.” She batted her eyelashes provocatively.
You want to hide from true intimacy, darlin’? He wasn’t having it.
Instead, he skimmed his tongue across her upper lip.
“Oh! That’s…”
He drew her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down with the slightest pressure.
She tipped back her chin.