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Kissing him. Bringing him back to my cottage. Having an admittedly hurried birth control and STD conversation at the door. Promising we’d never burden Lauren with the events of this evening. Letting him strip me naked. And it wasn’t like I could avoid him tomorrow. I could try, but…oh, fuck, his mouth was on the back of my neck.
    He licked every inch of my neck and shoulders but it was his rough chin that had me panting and arching my back to feel more of his erection. That sharp scruff awakened every nerve, and I couldn’t stop a shiver from vibrating through me.
    Right, right, now I remembered why I was doing this: I was thinking my last decent orgasm occurred in my twenties.
    “Be a good little cock tease and stand still until I tell you to move,” he growled in my ear.
    What did he say to me?
    I was outraged and insulted and ready to shove his commando ass out the door. Regardless of whether I’d fulfilled my commitment to Lauren or not, I didn’t put up with shit like this. I could survive on inadequate orgasms. I preferred my men civilized, thank you very much.
    “You’re such an arrogant asshole,” I said, and those words weren’t halfway out of my mouth when his hand cracked over my ass. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of the moan his touch garnered, but I was powerless to swallow it when his hand coasted over my backside and between my legs.
    “I’m gonna keep that smart mouth of yours busy,” he said. He edged my feet apart and we groaned in unison—loud, needy, and unhinged—when his thick fingers circled my clit.
    No one had ever— ever —spoken to me that way before.
    The sounds of his belt unlatching and his fly unzipping crawled over my skin and burrowed, frantic and urgent, in my muscles. He guided his cock against my folds, his breath shuddering on my neck. He leaned into me, his throbbing length right up against my ass, and said, “Now I’m going to show you what it means to be fucked.”
    “You talk a really big game,” I said as his fingers speared inside me and his thumb came down on my clit. “It’s actually very cute but—” Oh, those fingers. I wasn’t capable of sustaining cogent arguments when those fingers were moving in and out and everywhere, and why, why, why couldn’t the men I’d met through online dating have this kind of dexterity?
    Will bit his way up my shoulder, chuckling. “You were saying something?”
    That conceited bastard.
    “I was saying your technique is awkward at best.”
    He pulled away, and the absence of his imposing warmth—and fingers—left me aching. Tossing him the most hateful glare I could conjure, I pivoted, completely impervious to the fact that I was naked in five-inch wedges and trembling with want.
    His hand was gliding up and down that beautiful beast of a cock, and my tongue darted out to gather the drool that was about to spill from my parted lips. I glanced up to find him watching me, and I knew he saw every one of my hungry, dirty thoughts as if they were scrawled across my body like subtitles.
    “Does your pussy taste as good as it looks?” Will asked.
    I tossed my hair over my shoulder and folded my arms under my (very bare) breasts. “Better,” I said. “But it’s not like you’re ever going to find out.”
    He chuckled. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
    A smile pulled at Will’s lips and he inclined his head. He was goading me, and as I yanked his t-shirt over his head and palmed his cock, I didn’t care that I’d taken his bait. I was vaguely aware of tattoos and scars, instead focusing on the imprint of his scent and getting rid of his jeans. I ran my nails over his chest and legs, scratching his tanned skin and soothing those marks with my tongue.
    “You’ve tested enough of my patience, Shortcake,” he said, his hands sliding to my hips. He lifted me, set me on the bed, and crawled over me, his cock dragging along my leg like a threat.
    “Don’t fucking call me that,” I said, my legs