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He moved his hands up her spine, and she wanted to purr like a cat, and then he brought his hand around to cup her breasts. Oh, she was very disdainful of her breasts. She thought of them as small and unremarkable. But as Daughtry ran his thumb over one tightened nipple, she had never been more grateful for her breasts. She would never shame them again. Because when he put his hands on them it was like being struck by lightning. Like she finally understood what they were for.

What her whole body was for.

She just wanted to be touched and appreciated and luxuriated in by Daughtry King. Over and over again. Until she couldn’t breathe.

“Please,” she panted, as he squeezed her, as he sent fire rolling through her veins.

“I have to have you,” he said against her lips. The desperation in his tone making her lightheaded. He picked her up again, right off the ground, his strength a damned sensation.

He laid her down slowly on the bed, spread her out before him.

She was still fully clothed, he with his shirt off, and she found herself wanting to cover up her body, even though she was still covered.

She found herself feeling exposed as he stared at her, his eyes filled with heat.

Then he moved his hands to the buckle on his jeans, undid them as he kicked off his boots and socks. Pushed everything down his lean hips and exposed all of himself to her hungry gaze.

“Oh my,” she said.

It was perhaps the most demure, pearl-clutching reaction to anything Bix had ever had.

She lay there for a full ten seconds, immobilized by the sight of him.

And then she remembered who the hell she was. Bix Carpenter. Survivor, moonshiner, and no shrinking violet.

She sat up, getting onto her knees, and putting her hand on that rigid abdomen again. She was close now, to that most masculine part of him. The part of him that was making her tremble and quake. Making her wet at her center. Making her internal muscles pulse with need.

She moved her hands down that gorgeous scoop right by his hipbone, down his thigh. He groaned, letting his head fall back.

Curiosity drove her, and she moved her head toward him, and he grabbed her hair. “I’m on a hair trigger, Bix. It’s not a good idea.”

“But I want...”

“Later,” he said.

His eyes were filled with molten promise. She was about to argue, but then she found herself flat on her back again, with that big, dominant man on top of her. Making her feel all kinds of things. All kinds of delicious things.

He took her dress up over her head, then her bra. Leaving her needy breasts bare to his gaze.

Then he dragged her panties down her legs, and she gave thanks for the simplicity of dresses.

“You are gorgeous,” he said, the words a growl, taking on the same edge asall the better to eat you withmight.

And that was when she realized. He wasn’t Captain America. Not in this one moment. He was the big bad wolf if he was anything, and she wasn’t afraid of him. No. She was too turned-on to be afraid.

This man... She wanted this man. With every fiber of her being she wanted this man.

And all that he was. All the complexity. It was then she realized that she had awakened something inside of him too.

He had introduced her to this. This feeling of need. Of desire.

But he had been something different when they’d met. Suppressing this. This part of himself. And it was very real. Raw. Beautiful.

He was afraid of it. She knew that. She had listened and collected all the little pieces that he had left for her to grab when he had spoken about his childhood. About his father.

It was her job to make him not afraid of this. To make him see how much she wanted it. How much she loved it.

And so she let her legs fall open, forgetting to be modest or nervous in any regard. Because she was watching his face. Watching the greed there, watching the desire. And she knew that this was about to be everything.