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‘For you to finish undressing me,’ I instructed.
He fell on me, callused fingers grazing my skin as he reached behind me to unclasp my bra. At the
first sight of my breasts, he groaned. ‘God, you’re so fucking sexy.’
I arched my back, silently inviting him to touch.
He touched. Squeezed and caressed me until he dragged a moan from my throat. The thought of the
frozen tundra right outside the tent and the sizzling effect of his hands on me was one of the headiest encounters I’d experienced.
I wanted more of it.
As if he’d read my mind, his hands tiptoed down my ribs, leaving a trail goosebumps, to catch and
drag my panties down my legs.
In the dim light, I saw a flush stain his chiselled cheekbones. It was a unique enough reaction to
elevate me from mere lust to...something else. Something that was exclusively mine.
Something that didn’t remind me of my uncanny resemblance to my mother, a fact many chose to
comment on, either with reverence or with cruelty. While these days I’d stopped reading the tabloids, I’d once spent a useless, soul-shrivelling month scouring newspapers and magazines for mentions of
my name that didn’t involve my mother. Not a single one had been entirely about me. Because of
course I wasn’t my own person. I was a churned-out product, a means to an end dictated by a few
lines scrawled in a centuries-old trust, discarded at the very first opportunity.
If only I could look into the mirror and not see the exact replica of just who had done the discarding
—
Callused hands tightened on my inner thighs, dragging me back to the present. To the man who
crouched before me, his eyes fixed on me with complete, unwavering focus. ‘I feel as if I’m losing
you,’ Jensen said, a displeased little light in his eyes that absurdly thrilled me. The idea that a man who barely knew me would fight for my attention, when my own mother had—
Dear God, enough already!
‘Well, you’ve got my clothes off. Now what do you want to do?’ I asked, momentarily content to let
him make the decision. I was merely loosening the reins, not handing them over.
He swallowed, his gaze darting from my breasts to my pelvis, hunger etched deeper on his face.
His grip grew even firmer, subtly nudging my thighs apart. I was shamelessly wet, could feel the hot dampness in the cool air.
‘I want to taste you. Devour you. Make you come,’ he said.
Breath hitching, I spread my thighs wider. ‘Then we’re in accord, Jensen, because I want the same
thing.’
With a rough grunt, he lurched forward, wrapped both hands around my breasts and sucked a nipple