Page 47 of The Holiday Clause

“Giving in.”

“To what?”

“You.” The tension in her body went slack, and his gaze again dropped to her chest.

The heat of his calloused palm rode over her hip to cup her ass. He studied her face as if waiting for her to object. When she didn’t, he slid his hand under the hem of her shirt. In the silenceof the house, she could hear every ruffle of fabric and every intense breath.

Chills raced over her flesh as his rough fingertips treaded slowly against her skin. Higher.Higher. The anticipation was a drug that instantly addicted her but might also kill her. She needed his hands on her, rough and strong. She wanted him to grab her and pull off her clothes in a fit of madness, but Greyson was a master of control, and all she could do was wait, praying sensibility didn’t return and scare him off.

Heat engulfed her damp flesh, and her lips parted when his warm palm finally cupped her breast. This was what she’d spent the last several days fantasizing about, unsure if she’d ever experience his hands on her again. It was slow and possessive, overwhelming her with a sense of safety that somehow felt equally dangerous.

“We’re not doing this,” he said as he proceeded to peel down the cup of her damp bra to drag the side of his thumb over the turgid tip of her nipple.

If he needed her to lie, she’d lie. “Of course not. That would be bad.”

“Very bad.”

“Horrible.”

He paused, then leaned down slowly, angling his head as if to kiss her, but not closing the distance. Instead, he dipped his mouth close to hers and pulled away, teasing her with an almost kiss.

Her breath hitched as he coaxed her mouth open without even touching her lips. His fingers pinched her nipple and her spine arched. Licking swiftly across her open mouth, he got her to stretch toward him.

The side of his mouth curved with cocky satisfaction. He was a puppet master pulling her strings.

“Tease.”

“Stay still.”

At first, she tensed, unsure why he’d give such a command, then she realized he wanted control. He withdrew his hands, and she tried not to show disappointment. Patience was the key with Greyson, and she’d waited an eternity for him to touch her like this.

He looked down at her body, his large fingers framing her ribs and then dragging slowly to her hips, where he squeezed and pulled her more firmly onto his thigh. She moaned softly at the pressure of him, hard and hungry. Proof he was not unaffected by her.

He was starting to realize she wouldn’t stop him. He could do whatever he wanted and she would let him. She knew this infuriated him, but she didn’t care. His control was equally maddening, and she wanted to see him snap.

Her hands gripped the edge of the table, pushing her breast out in invitation. His gaze roamed over her like a hungry caress. He teased the hem of her shirt, longing in his touch as much as it rested in his eyes.

“Tell me to stop, Wren.”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t. She wanted this too much.

His eyes met hers in silent warning.

“Do it,” she whispered, and he shoved the shirt up, exposing her breasts, and pulled down her bra as far as it could go without coming off. Exposed and constricted, she gasped.

He cursed under his breath. “Tell me to take my hands off you.”

She met his stare, making it perfectly clear that she had no intention of stopping him. “Or... you could kiss me.” She slowly trailed her fingers between her breasts. “Here.”

He grabbed the back of her neck and jerked her close, sealing his mouth to hers. Demanding and deep, he took possession of not just her mouth but her entire being as he yanked her downon his thigh so her body throbbed against his muscular leg. Her fingers curled into his bare, broad shoulders.

“This is the last time this happens, you hear?”

She caught his face and pulled his mouth back to hers. “You don’t make the rules.”

He broke the kiss, hauling her onto the table. “I mean it, Wren. This goes no further than this.”

“Since when are you such a prude?”