Page 38 of Dirty Little Vow
Those late nights at the office he let his guard down and showed me little pieces of the man no one else knew existed. He made me want more of us, and I still do. His gaze lifts and locks with mine, and the punch of heat between us is combustible. I’m spellbound by the moment and the man and when he cups my face, we stand together, step into each other, our bodies aligned.
“You have no idea how many ways I was losing my mind the past few hours.”
“I hate they used me against you.”
“They used you against themselves.”
My concern is instant, at what seems to be confirmation that this is far from over. “What happened?” I ask. “Whatisgoing on?”
“Not now,” he says, his voice sandpaper rough. “Not yet.” And then his mouth presses to my mouth, and he licks past my lips. The taste of him is possession and dominance.
He doesn’t want to talk right now.
And I don’t know that I do, either.
Because we both know this isn’t over, and we have to face what tonight’s events mean. Just not yet, not right this minute.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bella
Tyler shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to a barstool, his hands returning to my body in a matter of a blink, his thick erection pressed to my belly. He cups my face, kissing me, drinking me in, and the taste of him is a drug. His kiss is rough and rousing and I am instantly seduced, a willing captive to his passion, to all that is this man.
I catch his shirt and pull it from his pants, shoving my hands under the starched cotton, my palms pressing to taut muscle and warm skin. A low growl escapes his lips, as if my touch undoes him, which has always really turned me on with Tyler, a man composed at every turn.
Except with me.
And I want more, so much more of him, wild and hungry and full of demand.
I reach up, unbuttoning his shirt, or trying. My hands tremble with more adrenaline, the emotions of the day, the lack of food, the intense desire coursing through my body, working a number on me.
Tyler helps me, finishing a button off and then pulling his shirt over his head. My hands are all over him before it ever hits the ground, my mouth on his chest. He catches the hem of my skirt, dragging it up my legs, and I have one moment of realization before his hands cup my naked backside. His fingers search for the silk I’d normally wear, and I suck in a breath, anticipating his reaction. God, I didn’t warn him, I didn’t tell him about Oliver. And I do not think he will react well. This man knows what I wear under my work attire, and sure enough, he jerks backward, his hands cupping my face. “Where are your panties?” he demands.
“He didn’t touch me, Tyler. I promise—”
“Where are your panties?”
“He bound my hands and even fingers so I couldn’t get out of the room,” I say quickly, and deciding I’ve done this out of order, I add, “He had me take them off so I could go to the bathroom, but he turned his back. I only got out of the room because a maid heard me screaming. I swear, Tyler, he didn’t touch me. He didn’t look at me like that. He was offended I thought that he wanted to and I’d tell you, I swear. I wouldn’t be okay right now if he’d touched me.”
His palm settles warmly on my waist and his forehead touches mine. “I hate this happened to you. I hate I let this happen to you.”
My hand covers his hand. “You didn’t let it happen. Your father did this to us both, and I hate this happened toyou.”I press on his chest, his heart thundering under my palm, telling me how affected he is right now. “They used me against you,” I say, tilting my chin up to meet his stare. “They made me a weapon.”
“They made me a weapon, and if they don’t know it, they will.”
A chill slides down my spine at the dangerous statement I fear more than I did Oliver. I can’t let him become his father. I won’t. “Tyler, I don’t want—”
“I do,” he says, “I want so fucking bad, I am coming out of my own skin.” He turns me around, and my hands catch on the island. He unzips my dress, between the two of us we pull it over my head, and soon I’m naked; everything is gone. And already his hands are back on my body, warm and possessive, and when he reaches around me and pinches my nipples, sensations slide through me and settle low in my belly. My sex clenches.
I want him inside me. I want him pressed close to me.
He rotates me, his piercing eyes raking over my naked body, one palm scooping my backside, molding me to him, possessiveness etched on his face. Tyler owns me, and it’s terrifying sometimes how much I love him, because I always think he’s one moment from talking himself into being bad for me. I think he hates himself. I think his father made him that way.
He kisses my neck, his hands and mouth exploring my body, and when my fingers dive into his hair, there is a spike of urgency between us. “I need to be inside you, Bella,” he says against my mouth, his breath hot, my body hotter.
“Yes, please,” I whisper, my voice all rasp and desire, and we’re so caught up in the storm of emotions raining down on us, that nothing exists but my need to feel him buried deep inside me.
We both reach for his pants and between the both of us, his zipper is down now, and his erection juts forward, thickly veined, my hand wrapping around it. He groans but doesn’t allow me to do any of the many things I’d like to do to him right now.