so damn good.
"You don’t have to drag me out of the well," she continues, arching an eyebrow playfully. I would have been confused by her sudden change in demeanour had she not smelled of pretty things. "I come willingly."
"With some tricks up your sleeves, I'm sure." My eyes sweep over her face, lingering on her eyes.
She tilts her head to the side. "Of course, especially seeing as you like to gamble so much."
She gives me no time to reply, placing both her hands on my chest and pushes me inside. She glances over her shoulder, back at my friend.
"Lassie, you don't have to stand guard tonight. I think I can take good care of Timmy," she calls out, her voice low and bloody hot. I’m not sure if that’s more of a turn on, or if the way she slams the door in Travis' face, pressing her back up against it, her chewing on that plump lower lip, beats it out.
"Mr Hatter. I hear you've been a bad, bad, boy." I swallow. Her voice is something out of a porno.
She shakes her head, raising her hand, and brushes her fingertips across her bare shoulder. I clamp a hand against the door on either side of her head and stare down. Fighting the urge to crush my lips against hers, I ask, "And you aren't so innocent yourself, Miss Queen."
"I guess it's safe to assume you plan on doing something about that, right?" She arches her back against the door, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to take her right there.
Her eyes look almost curious, but scared, as if she doesn’t know how far she wants to really take this. She starts to press her hips against me, but I move back, just out of reach.
"Only if you want me to," I tell her, drawing in a deep breath. I look to the side. Being so close like this is driving the hunger to taste her to the edge.
And it’s hard to look at her when she’s in a position that any man would want to take advantage of; leaning sexily against a door, a silk dress hugging every ounce of her skin, just the right way, and those full lips that are begging to be kissed.
"I don't think it really matters what I want," she teases, snaking toward me slowly, looking confused when I immediately shift back. She stares at me for a second, and I know she’s pondering her next move. "Or maybe," she continues, stepping round me and walking toward the bed. "Maybe you're the submissive type." Every word she utters goes straight to my cock.
My head whirls round to follow her, and I watch the way her hips sway beneath the material of her dress. I suck in a breath when she comes to a stop at the foot of my bed, lifting her hands to tug at the strap of her dress. It falls away instantly and she shimmies her way out of the dress until it’s nothing but a pool of blue at her feet.
Fuck.
Me.
Sideways.
Adelaide is even more beautiful than I’d imagined. Standing there in a strapless lacy blue bra and matching underwear, my heart pumps like crazy.
Her hands glide over her skin as if she isn’t exactly sure what to do with them.
"Adelaide," I warn.
When my eyes roam over her body, I burn with the need to touch, taste, and sniff her scent like a crazed animal.
"James. . ." Her tone rivals my own.
She pivots round and crawls onto the bed, her hips rolling from side to side. When she makes it to the middle, she moves to face me, sitting up on her knees.
I find myself stalking toward her, my steps deliberate and slow, almost predatory. I catch her swallowing nervously and stop, averting my eyes from the prize, despite my cock screaming to keep walking the line.
Not like this.
"Well?" she asks breathlessly. "How. . . how do you want me?"
I lift my head up. The determination and sexiness in her voice is gone, replaced by shyness and— damn it —fear.
"Don't do this, Adelaide." I move to the end of the bed to grab my tuxedo jacket. Climbing onto the bed on my knees, I go to cover her with the jacket, but she snatches it and tosses it to the floor.
"I asked you, how do you want me," she repeats, leaning
"You don’t have to drag me out of the well," she continues, arching an eyebrow playfully. I would have been confused by her sudden change in demeanour had she not smelled of pretty things. "I come willingly."
"With some tricks up your sleeves, I'm sure." My eyes sweep over her face, lingering on her eyes.
She tilts her head to the side. "Of course, especially seeing as you like to gamble so much."
She gives me no time to reply, placing both her hands on my chest and pushes me inside. She glances over her shoulder, back at my friend.
"Lassie, you don't have to stand guard tonight. I think I can take good care of Timmy," she calls out, her voice low and bloody hot. I’m not sure if that’s more of a turn on, or if the way she slams the door in Travis' face, pressing her back up against it, her chewing on that plump lower lip, beats it out.
"Mr Hatter. I hear you've been a bad, bad, boy." I swallow. Her voice is something out of a porno.
She shakes her head, raising her hand, and brushes her fingertips across her bare shoulder. I clamp a hand against the door on either side of her head and stare down. Fighting the urge to crush my lips against hers, I ask, "And you aren't so innocent yourself, Miss Queen."
"I guess it's safe to assume you plan on doing something about that, right?" She arches her back against the door, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to take her right there.
Her eyes look almost curious, but scared, as if she doesn’t know how far she wants to really take this. She starts to press her hips against me, but I move back, just out of reach.
"Only if you want me to," I tell her, drawing in a deep breath. I look to the side. Being so close like this is driving the hunger to taste her to the edge.
And it’s hard to look at her when she’s in a position that any man would want to take advantage of; leaning sexily against a door, a silk dress hugging every ounce of her skin, just the right way, and those full lips that are begging to be kissed.
"I don't think it really matters what I want," she teases, snaking toward me slowly, looking confused when I immediately shift back. She stares at me for a second, and I know she’s pondering her next move. "Or maybe," she continues, stepping round me and walking toward the bed. "Maybe you're the submissive type." Every word she utters goes straight to my cock.
My head whirls round to follow her, and I watch the way her hips sway beneath the material of her dress. I suck in a breath when she comes to a stop at the foot of my bed, lifting her hands to tug at the strap of her dress. It falls away instantly and she shimmies her way out of the dress until it’s nothing but a pool of blue at her feet.
Fuck.
Me.
Sideways.
Adelaide is even more beautiful than I’d imagined. Standing there in a strapless lacy blue bra and matching underwear, my heart pumps like crazy.
Her hands glide over her skin as if she isn’t exactly sure what to do with them.
"Adelaide," I warn.
When my eyes roam over her body, I burn with the need to touch, taste, and sniff her scent like a crazed animal.
"James. . ." Her tone rivals my own.
She pivots round and crawls onto the bed, her hips rolling from side to side. When she makes it to the middle, she moves to face me, sitting up on her knees.
I find myself stalking toward her, my steps deliberate and slow, almost predatory. I catch her swallowing nervously and stop, averting my eyes from the prize, despite my cock screaming to keep walking the line.
Not like this.
"Well?" she asks breathlessly. "How. . . how do you want me?"
I lift my head up. The determination and sexiness in her voice is gone, replaced by shyness and— damn it —fear.
"Don't do this, Adelaide." I move to the end of the bed to grab my tuxedo jacket. Climbing onto the bed on my knees, I go to cover her with the jacket, but she snatches it and tosses it to the floor.
"I asked you, how do you want me," she repeats, leaning
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