It felt exactly the same.
From the soft pressure of his lips on mine to the dizzy hum of delight through my body to the way my heart beat double time.
It felt like the more I was so hesitant about, but I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t make myself step away from him and break the contact. I couldn’t pull my lips from his, because damn it all, he was right.
He did own me.
West Rykman owned my body, and he owned it entirely. It was almost as if he’d cast a spell over me that meant I couldn’t fight him, that I had to surrender, because when it came to his touch, there was no reasoning with myself.
I craved it.
I craved the sensation of his skin against mine. Craved the way I felt when he ran his hands up my sides. When he kissed me. When he dragged his mouth over my neck. When his lips brushed my ear when he whispered dirty things to me.
More dangerously, I craved him.
He was a natural disaster of immense force, and the devastation he’d leave me with would be irreparable. I was sure of it. He’d shaken my world up in more ways than he’d ever know, because telling him... It was crazy.
Impossible.
“Come out to the deck,” he said, finally releasing me but keeping my face between his palms. “I’m grilling steak out there.”
“Okay.” I followed him when he dropped his hands. I set my purse on one of the pristine kitchen counters and went out to the back deck. It was still early, so the sun was still visible in the sky, but the roof of the deck blocked most of its glare out.
I pulled my shoes off as I curled up on the rattan sofa with bright-blue cushions. I hadn’t really paid attention to it before, but now, I loved it. The black-and-white, stripy throw pillows that adorned it lent it a certain modern charm, and I wondered if he’d picked it out himself.
I had to admit that I couldn’t see this six-foot-three hunk with muscle on top of his muscle strolling around Ikea with a cart.
I could, however, see him grilling steaks on that big-ass machine at the other end of the deck. A beer bottle was sitting on the side bit that jutted out, and he swigged from it before stepping back and pulling his shirt over his head.
I gulped.
Didn’t even swallow. It was a legit gulp that was probably heard from outer space.
His back was a piece of art. The way the muscles dipped and curved in their natural ways. The way even his shoulder muscles just crept up, something I rarely saw when he was wearing a shirt. The dimples at the base of his back, right above his butt.
Lord...he was hot.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll skip the steak,” he warned.
“How do you know if I’m even looking at you? You have your back to me.”
“I know. And I know how you look at me.”
“How is that, oh smart one?”
He peered back at me over his shoulder, a shit-eating, smug-as-hell grin on his face. “Like you want to push me over and ride me.”
Well...that was pretty hard to argue with. I was relatively close to thinking such a thing now, if I was honest with myself—and, after the two kisses we’d just shared, being honest with myself was something I needed to start doing. Fast.
“Can I ask you a question?” I needed to change the subject and fast.
“Go ahead.”
“Did the maid of honor really ask you how much it’d be for the honor of sucking your cock?”
“My ‘fine-as-fuck cock,’ you mean,” he corrected me with a wide grin. “And yes, she did. Quite shamelessly and loudly, actually. I was almost impressed.”
“Almost impressed?”
“Well, it was her guts more than anything.” He paused, flipped the steaks, the put the spatula down, and grabbed his beer. “She quite literally grabbed my dick and asked me.”
My eyebrows shot up. Wow. “I’d almost be impressed too.”
“Oh. You’re not getting angry with me this time?”
I pursed my lips. “It can be arranged.”
“Would it help if I said the steak was ready?”
“It’ll delay it, not necessarily help it.”
He caught the teasing tone in my voice and flashed me a quick grin before he put the steaks on the plate. He carried them over to the table near the grill, and I joined him there.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” he questioned, setting the plates down. The next thing he grabbed was a large wooden salad bowl.
I shook my head. “I’m driving.”
“Are you sure?”
I eyed him curiously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted me to so I can’t drive home.”
West sat down, looking the picture of absolute innocence, his eyebrows raised. It didn’t wash with me—I knew that the man was the embodiment of temptation, of the ultimate sin.
“Me?” he asked. “What makes you say that?”
I spooned salad onto my plate. “Because it falls in line with absolutely everything I know about you.”
He dropped the innocent look and smirked. “You know me better than I thought you did.” He cut into his steak.
I wrinkled my nose at the look of the almost-raw meat and the blood that was very visible.