So, I take.
I close the distance, grabbing Jackson’s face, holding his chiseled jaw, and I crush my mouth to his. I taste his lips and inhale his scent. Like cedar and falling snow, like night and hushed moments in front of a crackling fire.
My head is a symphony of lust and sensation, light and noise, as I devour his mouth, savoring every second of a moment I’ve barely allowed myself to dream about. All that checked lust, all that restraint lets loose as I kiss him hard.
He kisses me just as fiercely, like he meant everything he said and a whole lot more.
But in a heartbeat, in a sliver of a second, I’m no longer leading the kiss. He breaks the contact and pushes me up against the wall, facing him, his hands on either side of my shoulders.
He doesn’t even touch me, but I’m locked in by those arms of steel.
His stare is dark, filthy.
It’s something else too. Something I’ve never seen before from a man or a woman. Something that sends sparks across my skin, that makes me sizzle.
Something . . .
Dominating.
At six foot one, I’m not a short man. I work out like a fiend at the gym. My arms are toned, my legs are strong, my stomach is flat. But he’s taller and he’s bigger—that’s the point. He’d better be bigger.
When he stares at me like a predator, that advantage lights me on fire.
“Let’s make one thing crystal clear,” he rasps out.
My throat is dry. “Tell me.”
With his arms on either side of my face and his lips inches from mine, he says, “I’m a top. And I’m a top in every way. Including this.”
His hands slide to my face, groping my hair, tugging on it, jerking my head back.
He seals his mouth to mine.
And Jackson Pearce takes over.
5
Jackson
I shouldn’t do this. I need to stop. I will stop.
I swear, I will. I promise. But . . .
Not. Quite. Yet.
Because when you’re wildly attracted to the person you can’t be attracted to, to your goddamn boss, and you get your lips on him at last . . . well, stopping isn’t in the cards.
I don’t want to stop. I want to take. I want to taste. And I want to have.
I hate myself for kissing this man who drives me crazy.
But I love how he bends. I love the way he gives his mouth to me.
How he turns his body over.
He’s so pliable, so willing, so damn eager to let me lead.
I kiss him deeper, stroking my tongue into his mouth, exploring his lips until my mind is a white-hot blur.
I crowd him, pushing my body against Stone’s, letting him feel what he’s done to me. My cock is iron in my pants, and it’s hungry for him. Rock-hard for my boss.
The wrongness of that statement should stop me.
But it doesn’t.
Because he wants me with the same ferocity.
I haven’t wanted anyone like this in ages. It feels good to want again. It feels human and necessary to crave someone this intensely.
It’s driving me mad, and right now I want to cruise down the path of insanity.
I want desire to take over my lungs, my bloodstream.
I grind against him, my shaft rubbing against the steel outline of his till we’re both panting, gasping for air.
Stone feels so damn good against me, his body, his dick, his chest, his mouth.
All of him fits against all of me, and I’m burning with a lust so powerful it’s frying my brain.
It’s short-circuiting my sense of duty, my sense of right and wrong.
But he is all my filthy, forbidden wishes.
Months of longing unspool in a searing-hot kiss that’s more than lips meeting. It’s bodies smashing together.
Bodies aching.
Wanting.
Craving.
I want to strip him to nothing, have my way with him, unleash all my attraction on him.
Then let it go.
Be done with it.
Walk away and leave the earth scorched behind me.
But there are lines I can’t cross any further than I already have.
If I kiss Stone much longer, I’ll take him in my room, his room, the stairwell, even.
Anywhere.
I’ll put him on his knees, and I will fuck him the way I want. I will ruin him. He’ll be wasted when I’m done with him. And he’ll want every second of the ruination as much as I do.
I clasp his face tighter, devour his mouth harder. I tell myself one more second, two more seconds, three more seconds, and I’ll stop.
I. Will. Stop.
I break away, panting wildly, my heart racing, my pulse pounding.
Stone stares at me with wild green eyes and tangled hair, dazed and disheveled.
I find the will somewhere inside me, and in a voice that’s hardly my own, I say, “That can’t happen again.”
I step away and press my fingers against the bridge of my nose as regret washes over me, along with a newfound worry. I might like to be in charge, but this man is my employer and I need to show him respect.
I square my shoulders, straightening my whole body. “I’m sorry. You’re the boss. I crossed the line. I should know better.”
He swallows.
Once. Twice.
Shoves both hands through his hair, blinks, like he’s collecting his thoughts, then gives me a lopsided grin.
His million-dollar smile.
The one that’s graced magazines and tabloids.
The one that’s part and parcel of his public persona.
With a smile that drips of sensuality and a swagger that exudes sex appeal, Stone was made for the stage, was born to be adored, to have panties and shirts and ties and proposals flung at him nightly from the crowds.
That’s imprinted on my brain from an article I read before I interviewed for the job. I devoured countless pieces on him, as a good bodyguard should do while seeking employment.
That’s what this is—my job.
That’s all it can be.
“Yeah. Dude,” he says, smacking my shoulder. “We’re cool. I’m not going to fire you for that.”
A laugh seems to burst from his chest, like even the thought is the most ridiculous thing in the world.
Relief courses through me. I need this job. This can’t happen again. I have to fight off this lust that has a life of its own. “Good, thank you. I’m—”
He waves away my apology then presses a finger to my lips, shushing me. “No sorrys. We are all good, man.”
The rocker takes his hand away then smooths down his shirt and turns on his heel like he’s going to walk away.
But before he goes far, he spins back around and steps into my space again. I tremble as he comes close, as his heady, woodsy scent fills my head, and he whispers in my ear, “But you should know, I’m going to my room now.” He pulls back to meet my gaze. “And when that door shuts, I’m going to unzip my jeans in mere seconds. I’m not even going to make it to the bed. I’m going to be standing there slumped against the door, my thick, hard cock in my hand, jacking myself all the way off and thinking of you.”
His eyes lock with mine, and the heat in me soars higher.
Hotter.
More dangerously.
“My hand will slide up and down my shaft while I picture you pinning me down on my bed, pushing me into the pillows, and getting behind me. Fucking me ruthlessly,” he says, his voice taunting as he reads my mind and paints my dirty thoughts on a canvas to show me that he knows my desires.