Page 3 of Let it Ignite (Playing with Fire #2)

Byron

I pull into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the porch. It’s just an old ranch-style house with weathered wood and creaking steps. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s solid. Like me. Like what she needs right now.

I kill the engine, but I don’t move.

My fingers are still locked on the steering wheel, knuckles tight, blood humming in my ears.

I can still feel her. The weight of her breast in my palm, the hard little point of her nipple against my calloused skin.

Her scent, her breath, her quiet gasp that shot straight to my gut and detonated there.

Fuck.

My cock is still hard. So hard it aches. The bunker pants do nothing to ease the pressure, and every muscle in my body is coiled tight, one breath away from snapping. I glance at her and she’s watching me. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Lips parted like she can still feel my hand on her.

She doesn’t know what she did to me. Or maybe she does. Hell, maybe she knew the second she touched my thigh. The second she pressed my hand to her tits like they were mine to take.

I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I know better. She’s vulnerable. She just lost everything. She’s looking for something to hold on to.

And God help me, I want to be that something.

But wanting her and taking her are two different things.

I shove open the truck door and circle around, yanking hers open before she can reach for the handle. My hands slide under her thighs, lifting her out like she weighs nothing.

She presses against me—bare skin against rough bunker pants—and for one second I forget who I am. I forget everything but her.

Then I set her down.

Firm. Gentle.

My hands linger longer than they should.

“Come on,” I mutter, grabbing her hand. Her fingers are soft and small in mine, but she holds tight.

The front door creaks open under my grip. I flip on the light. She follows me inside, her eyes darting across the space—leather couch, worn floor, stacked books, the smell of cedar and something faintly masculine.

“Nice place,” she says, voice quiet.

I grunt. "Got the basics."

The shopping bag on the couch catches my eye—Samira came through. I grab the bag and hand it over.

“My sister lives nearby. I asked her to bring you some clothes. And underwear,” I add.

Her eyes go wide. "You really didn’t have to."

“I wanted to.” I step back. My voice sounds rough even to me. “Go shower. Bathroom’s down the hall. Take your time.”

She hesitates, then nods, brushing past me. I don’t let myself look at her ass. The second the door clicks shut, I head to my room and strip down like I’m on fire. Step into the shower and crank the water to ice cold. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve never done that before.”

That little whisper, soft and unsure, hit me harder than anything else tonight. She hasn’t been touched. She’s untried. Untouched. And still, she reached for me. She guided my hand. She made me feel wanted—needed—in a way I didn’t know I craved.

And then came that question. The one that’s been echoing in my skull ever since she asked it.

“Would you ruin me?”

God help me, the answer was yes. Hell yes. Every part of me wanted to say it out loud. Wanted to show her what it meant. But I bit it back. Because she deserves more than that. She deserves everything. I brace one hand on the wall, my cock is rock hard and throbbing. I clench my teeth.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.

I step out of the shower, yanking on a pair of track pants, running a towel over my damp hair.

I take a deep breath hoping it will help.

I still can’t get over the fact that a sexy siren like Cassie has agreed to stay the night.

Things like that never happen to me. I try to think of what she might need, what will make her feel at home enough to want to stay for more than just one night.

First things first, she needs to eat. I head off to go see what I have in the kitchen.

I push open my bedroom door, and—

Smack. I run straight into her.

She’s standing in the hallway, wet hair curling around her bare shoulders, her skin still pink from the shower, her legs long and bare, her eyes wide and startled.

“Oh!” she gasps, stumbling back, her eyes flicking up to mine, her cheeks flushing, her lips parting.

I catch her before she can stumble back, my hands gripping her shoulders, her wide eyes locking on mine, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short, nervous bursts.

“I’m sorry,” she stammers, her fingers twisting in the hem of an oversized t-shirt, her gaze darting down, then back up, like she doesn’t know where to look. “I heard a noise... scratching... I got scared.”

I glance down and spot Rusty, my fat, ginger cat, winding his way around my ankles, his green eyes fixed on Cassie like she’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in his nine lazy lives.

I let out a rough chuckle, my hands still on her shoulders. “That’s just Rusty. He’s harmless. Bit of a sneak, but harmless.”

She gives him a scratch behind the ears. “Nice to meet you, Rusty.” She stands back up and lets out a nervous little laugh, her fingers still twisting in her shirt, and then her eyes drift down, freeze, and stay there.

I follow her gaze, realizing too late that my wet hair, bare chest, and track pants leave nothing to the imagination. My cock is rock hard, the thick, swollen ridge pressing against the thin fabric, making my arousal impossible to ignore.

Her cheeks darken, her lips part, and she looks up, her eyes wide and a little shy, like she’s trying to decide if this is something she should be looking at, if this is something she should be thinking about.

She swallows, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt. Her gaze drops again, then drags back up to my face, and she whispers, her voice soft, a little breathless, “Are you... um... are you hard... for me?”

My pulse slams into overdrive, my grip tightening on her shoulders, and I force myself to breathe, to think, to keep my head on straight.

“Yes,” I rasp, my voice rough. “You seem to have that effect on me, baby girl.”

Her cheeks flush darker, and she hesitates, her eyes still locked on mine, her fingers still twisting in her shirt, and then she whispers, her voice small, shaky, “Would you... maybe... want to... show me?”

I blink, my throat tight, my pulse thundering, my hands flexing on her shoulders. “My cock?” I choke out, the words slipping out before I can stop them, my brain short-circuiting, every rational thought I have flying out the window. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” she whispers, her eyes still locked on the bulge between my legs, her cheeks still flushed. “I’ve never... seen one. But I’ve always been curious.” She points vaguely in the direction of my dick, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I freeze, my eyes locked on hers, my pulse thundering in my ears, the air between us thick, heavy, charged.

She’s standing so close, her bare legs brushing my thighs, her small, trembling hands twisting in the hem of her shirt, her wide, nervous eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t think I should..”

“Hear me out,” she says, interrupting me.

“I’m listening,” I say, my voice rough, my jaw tight, every muscle in my body coiled tight, every instinct screaming at me to close the distance, to drag her against me, to take, to claim, to own.

“In a few days, I have my audition. If I get it, which I know I will, I’m moving to LA.” She swallows, her pulse fluttering in her throat, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt. “So I was thinking... maybe we could... you know... we could do it. Because I have nothing to lose.”

The words hit me like a gut punch, my heart slamming into my ribs, my brain short-circuiting, every rational thought I have flying out the window.

“You want me to be your first?” I rasp, the words rough, raw, my control hanging by a thread.

She nods, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short, shaky bursts. “I just... I don’t want to leave without... without knowing what it feels like. To be... wanted. To be... touched. To be... taken.”

I stare at her, my chest tight, my jaw clenched, my hands itching to grab, to hold, to drag her against me, to bury myself inside her, to claim her, to make her mine.

I swallow hard and take a step closer, my eyes locked on hers. “You’re sure about this?”

She hesitates, then nods. “I’m sure. I want you to be my first.”

“Cassie,” I rasp, my voice rough. “I don’t take what’s not freely given.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I am doing this freely.”

“I don’t know that once I have you, I’ll…”

She presses a finger to my lips, her touch light but firm, cutting off my words. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s just focus on tonight.”

I let out a low growl, my grip tightening on her hips as I pull her against me, the thin fabric of her t-shirt brushing my bare chest, her soft, warm body molding to mine.

“You want this?” I whisper against her mouth. “You want me to be the first man inside you?”

She tilts her head back, her eyes locked on mine. “Yes,” she breathes. “I want that.”

“I’m going to make this good for you,” I murmur. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

I step back, my eyes dragging down her body, and I let out a rough, breathless growl. “Take off the shirt.”

She hesitates, but then she reaches for the hem, her fingers trembling, and pulls it over her head, letting it drop to the floor.

And she’s perfect.

High, round tits tipped with tight, pink nipples, the soft, delicate skin flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. Her waist is small, her hips flaring out, her thighs pressed together, and between them, the slick, swollen lips of her pussy, glistening, begging for my touch.

“Christ,” I rasp, my jaw tight, my hands flexing at my sides. “Look at you. You didn’t put on underwear.”

“I just ran when I heard the scratching. So, you can thank Rusty for that.”

“Come here, baby girl.”