If a man suddenly said, I want you to be mine, you’d probably laugh. That or roll your eyes. Sophie did all of those things. But my poor heroine is tired, broke, and in the throes of a physical and mental attraction deeper and stronger than anything she’s ever felt before. Let’s just say, her current state has led her to be easily persuaded, and Lado? Well, with his wine red hair and ready laugh, he’s found a formula our dear Sophie is finding it quite hard to resist…
I can’t get involved in any more crazy shit, she thought, trying harder to get away. But he held tight to her hips, and when he gently shook her and bit the side of her neck she stopped pushing, letting her hands rest against his broad chest. Her hands looked small against him.
“Once you’re calm, with all business taken care of and your creative juices flowing again, your grumpiness will fade. I’ll see that all of your other urges come back in force,” he whispered, that seductive voice back to induce more shivers at her ear. “And all the affection I’ll have lavished on you will make you fall into my arms like a ripe plum. You’ll like being mine, Sophie. It will be easy, trust me.”
She smiled, chuckling softly as he kissed her. Hard and long until she broke away and laughed just to catch a breath.
He shook her gently. “Stop laughing this instant, young lady. This is serious.”
Sophie tried again to break free, but his hands were immovable. “Will you let go? I can’t think!”
Lado just laughed and instead of letting go his hand cupped the back of her head and pushed her face into his shoulder. She hissed irritably and sent one of her fists into his belly. He didn’t even flinch, the wretch, and he didn’t let go. He clucked soothingly, like she was a skittish animal he had to gentle, and damned if she couldn’t feel herself relaxing.
He was practically rocking her. God it felt good. Warm and safe. The change he’d sketched out for her sounded crazy and weird and terribly appealing, even more so when considered from the circle of his arms.
She was losing her mind. She didn’t write romance novels for Pete’s sake – certainly not the genre he was offering – she was a children’s book author! What the fuck did she know about this type of shit? He was holding her like a baby, and she actually liked it. She was truly pitiful. Her pride had developed holes wide enough to crawl through, and her feminist leanings were Gorilla in the Mist gone.
She needed to stand on her own two feet. Be strong. Practical. Think logically. Get out of the financial hole she’d dug for herself, and underneath all this kooky dominant shit he was dangling a ray of hope in front of her like cheese before a mouse. She wanted it too. The thought of laying down, giving up, letting someone else drive this broke down ass bus she called a life was so fucking appealing. At the end of the day he couldn’t do any worse than she was, could he?
He’d latched onto her ear lobe, was sucking it gently as his hands kneaded her butt. She shivered. How was she gonna resist him? She couldn’t, she realized, sighing voluptuously when his tongue finessed its way into her mouth.
He kissed like they’d been lovers forever, like he’d missed her or she’d been denying him and now he was back where he belonged. His tongue felt like it was stroking her everywhere, like her mouth was a conduit to her skin, her breasts, between her legs. And his hands just poured lighter fluid on the fire.
He touched her like his fingers already had favorite places on her body, places they could only get to by creeping over everything in their way. He stroked her firmly, deftly, his large hands gripping and squeezing and weighting her eyelids despite a near desperate need to watch him make love to her. She wanted to see those gleaming green eyes beneath his own heavy lids, to watch him bit that full lower lip. Maybe seeing him unravel, to know that she was affecting as much as he did her, would help her regain a little bit of her control…