Cav steps toward me, solidly masculine and sexy as hell. But what’s with the bossiness? The sensation of the cool granite on my cheek as I laid over the countertop in my kitchen resurfaces in my memory. He was plenty bossy then. But I thought maybe it was something that only extended to sex.
He stops in front of me and studies me. “You heard me, baby girl. I’ve decided who I want you to be while we’re here. Now you just have to tell me you want it too.”
“Want what?” My confusion comes out in my tone. “I thought this was supposed to be my decision. Whoever I wanted to be?”
“You can still be whoever you want, but this is my layer of . . . extra, that I want.”
Heat flushes my skin and dampness gathers between my legs. Is this really turning me on?
Cav lifts a hand and instead of reaching for the bikini strap, he skims the back of his hand over my very hard nipple that’s obviously poking against the top.
So that’s a yes from my body.
“You want it too, Greer. You want me to tell you what I want from you and make you give it to me.” He steps closer, continuing to speak before I can form words to respond. “You’ve been waiting for someone to come into your life and treat you like the dirty girl we both know you are, haven’t you?”
Skip damp—my bikini bottoms are now soaked, and I haven’t dipped a toe in the pool. How did he get inside my head and pull out my most forbidden thoughts? I think I instinctively hadn’t trusted Tristan enough to give him that kind of power, but with Cav I have a completely different gut-level feeling.
I swallow, trying to come up with a response. My internal struggle must be emblazoned on my reddening cheeks, because Cav lifts a hand to my chin and tilts it up to face him. “All you have to do is say yes, Greer.”
“Where . . . where did this come from? What makes you think I want this?”
A lazy smile spreads over his face. “I know you better than you think. Do you remember the first time I told you to kiss me? You wanted me to take the lead. Make the decision. Tell you what to do. It hasn’t changed a bit.” He releases my chin and trails the back of his fingers across my cheek before burying his hand in my hair. “Tell me what you did when I told you to kiss me. Do you remember how sweet you were? How willing to please?”
The memory comes back as if on his command . . .
Cav insisted we share a taxi home from the bar, and the driver stopped at my place near campus. He got out of the car first, telling the cabbie to wait, and walked me to the front door. When I thanked him for the drinks and the ride, he shook his head.
“I’m walking you to your apartment door. I’m not some punk kid who’s going to leave a girl on the sidewalk.” He looked down at the ink covering his arm, exposed without a jacket. “I may look like a thug, but I’ve got a few manners in me.”
I had just enough liquor to speak my mind without a filter. “You don’t look like a thug. You look . . . sexy as hell.” Once the words were out, I reconsidered my honesty. “Shit, I shouldn’t say things like that. You—”
“Like knowing the girl I think is hot as fuck also thinks I’m sexy as hell.” His grin was wicked, and my body—aka my nipples—took notice and stiffened against my bra. “You’re so damn innocent, but I still want a taste, Greer. Lead the way.”
What did that even mean, he still wanted a taste? And I wasn’t that innocent. I wasn’t a virgin or anything. I just didn’t fuck on the first date. My thoughts were coming in jumbled riots as I led him to the elevator and up the hallway.
I stopped in front of my door. “This one.”
Cav held out his hand. “Keys.”
“You’re bossy.”
A crooked smirk twitched the corner of his mouth. “You have no idea, baby girl. You have no idea.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I handed over the keys and watched him unlock my door. I stepped over the threshold, but Cav wrapped a hand around my arm to stop me.
“You’re gonna kiss me first, and then you can go to bed.”
“I’m gonna kiss you?” Surprise filtered into my tone at his bossy statement.
“Like you’ve been waiting weeks to do it.”
Which was the God’s honest truth.
I stared up into his changing hazel eyes. In this light, they were bluish-gray. How was I supposed to just . . . kiss him?
“Well, this is awkward,” I murmured.
“Doesn’t have to be awkward at all. All you gotta do is exactly what I say.”
He walked me through it, one step at a time, exactly how he wanted me to kiss him. Both hands on his chest, pressing up on the toes of my boots until our lips met, and then he took control.
I knew it at that moment—Cav Westman’s dominant streak ran hot.
“I remember,” I whisper. “But—”
“But nothing. I want you to let go, Greer. Let me take the wheel for a while. I swear you’ll enjoy the hell out of it.”
I know what my answer is, but instead of speaking the words, I reach for the ties on my bikini top and tug them free. The hot-pink material slides away and I drop it on the lounge chair beside me.