Page 69 of Devious Corruption

“Lev.” The back of my legs hit the bed. The only thing between me and him is my hand.

And as soon as he’s close enough, he brushes it away like some errant fly circling the picnic.

In the next instant, his hand is wrapped around my throat and his mouth is on mine. I want to shove him away. Or at least I should want to.

I don’t.

I manage to press my hands against his chest, but not enough to actually move him. And I’d like to tell myself that it’s just because I’m not strong enough. But I hate liars, even when lying to myself.

When he breaks the kiss, he touches his nose to mine, inhaling deeply. He squeezes his hand around my throat, raising my chin a fraction.

“You’re blushing, Maxine.”

“You’re choking me.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You can breathe fine. I’m holding you steady.”

“You don’t need?—”

“Of course I do. You just won’t admit it.” He brushes his lips across mine. Soft. Teasing. “And that’s okay. I can play the bad guy until you’re ready.”

With his free hand, he reaches down between us finding the button on my jeans andeasily undoing it.

“Wait. Lev.” I wrap my hand around his wrist, but he doesn’t stop.

He shoves my jeans down until they pool at my ankles.

“Step out of them, Maxine.” He orders, lining up his eyes with mine as he does. Heat courses through my body, trailing straight down to my core.

“If I don’t?”

His eyes practically sparkle. “Then I’ll bend you over the bed, rip off those panties, and fuck you. Use you. And I’ll leave you wanting and aching for a release that won’t come.”

I swallow against his hand, feeling the weight of his grip, the warmth of his skin against mine.

“You have until the count of three.” He holds up his index finger. “One.”

“You’re holding me.” I argue, his grip tightening slightly as I talk.

“Figure it out, Maxine.” He throws up a second finger. “Two.”

I press my right foot on top of the hem of the left pant leg and pull my leg up.

“Better hurry,” he says darkly.

After I get my second foot free, I kick away the pants.

“See, you can be good.” He tugs on the elastic of my panties. “Now these.”

“You have to let me go.”

“No.” He moves in closer.

Not only taking away any space between us but invading my running thoughts.

“I’m back to one.” With the tip of his finger, he trails it along my abdomen, just above the elastic.

The featherlike touch sends a ripple through me. I hate having my stomach touched or looked at. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body. It doesn’t bother me that I carry around extra weight, but I don’t like it pointed out. And having someone touch me there, is very much pointing out the extra padding.