Page 114 of Dare to Love Me

CHAPTER 27

Edward

My hand remains firmagainst her stomach, holding her in place, sprawled across the kitchen table.

And for a moment, I do nothing but look at her.

Her dark hair fans out across the wood, a wild, tangled halo. Her lips are parted and swollen, her hazel eyes—glazed, unfocused—locked onto mine from beneath heavy lashes.

Her BritShop skirt—that ridiculous, infuriating thing—is bunched up around her waist, the plaid fabric rumpled by what I’ve done to her.

Her chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, and she’s arching toward me in a silent, desperate plea. She’s so gloriously, maddeningly responsive.

I drag my gaze downward, and—Christ.

Her perfect cunt is drenched, the evidence of her pleasure gleaming under the low kitchen light.

Devastation. That’s the only word for the sight of her.

In my lust-heavy haze, I’d give up every damn medical degree just for the chance to taste her again.

I lower my head again, inhale deeply—fuck.

Her scent.

Every muscle in my body locks up.

I am not the kind of man who needs to dominate. I do not require submission to validate my ego. But I am desperate.

And desperation makes men primitive.

Be a gentleman, Edward.

Which, frankly, is getting increasingly difficult when she’s looking down at me like that.

And that slick little cunt?Pulsingwith need, begging me to do something about it.

“Wow.” She giggles, voice a little hoarse. “That inhale was . . . intense.”

I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs, willing the arousal coursing through me to settle.

She hasnoidea.

“Sorry,” I manage to say through gritted teeth, working to calm myself down so I don’t scare her. I must look like a man possessed.

I’ve just watched Daisy shatter beneath my mouth—watched her come apart with an intensity that’s left me feeling alive again.

I lift her from the table, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head—a quiet, reverent thing. But the way my fingers tighten around her hips? Possession.

I gently right her skirt, smoothing it into place.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her cheeks still flushed. “Do you still want that tea?”

I let out a slow breath, thick with everything that’s just transpired. “Not particularly. It’s hardly my most pressing concern.”

She giggles.

I lace my fingers through hers. Our eyes lock. “Care to show me your bedroom?”