J. Kenner - Wanted

I drew in a gasping breath, then said more forcefully, “ No. I’m not running. I’m not going anywhere.” I licked my suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the ground, embarrassment overtaking me. But not enough to cripple me. Not even close.

Traffic rushed by at the end of the alley and the pulse of music filtered through the thick walls of the club. None of that noise penetrated, though. The alley seemed still and quiet, as if the world had quit turning and everything—my existence, Evan’s, the whole damn universe—was stuck in limbo until I spoke again.

I steeled my shoulders. “Everything you just said … I—I want it, too.”

My cheeks were so hot I was certain they must be flashing as red as neon, and I kept my eyes down, afraid that if I looked up and saw him I might spontaneously combust.

“Angie. Oh, Jesus, Angie.” He took my head in his hands, his fingers sliding into my thick tangle of hair as he tilted my face up to see his. “You completely unwind me.” There was such intensity in his voice that it sounded almost painful, and the tenor of his desire shook me to the core. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this.” The words were rough and urgent. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” I said, the words sounding inadequate against the complexity of the emotions behind them.

For a moment, he held my gaze, as if he was searching my face for some sort of deception. I didn’t flinch. I knew what he saw in me—himself, reflected right back.

He stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, the sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast to the rawness of all the things he’d said he wanted to do with me. But somehow, that simple touch made me melt even more.

He was everything I’d ever wanted. Everything I needed. Hell, he was more than I could have imagined. And in that moment, I knew I would do anything to keep him there with me.

“I want you,” I repeated. “I want this.”

“This?” he repeated, then leaned in to brush a trail of feather-soft kisses down my neck, then along my collarbone. His touch was lighter than air, and yet it pounded through me like the steady, rhythmic thrum of a bass drum building to a crescendo.

“Or maybe this?” He ran his hands down my arms, then twined our fingers together. He pressed his body tight against me as his mouth sought mine, his tongue demanding entrance as he thrust our arms out to the side as if readying to take flight. He deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, delighting me with his teeth, nibbling on my lips. And as he did, he slowly maneuvered our arms up until mine were completely above my head and he gently released his fingers from mine. “Or maybe this is what you want,” he said, manipulating my hands so that I was clutching my own wrist above my head.

“Evan, I—”

“No.” He brushed his lips over my ear, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. “No talking. No moving. The arms stay up, the hands together. Nod if you understand me.”

I licked my lips.

“Nod,” he repeated.

I nodded, so lost in him that if he’d told me to strip naked and spread my legs right then, I think I would have done it, and eagerly. I was that much in thrall to him.

Yeah, he was dangerous all right—but damn me, it was that danger that I craved.

“Good girl,” he said, then brushed the gentlest of kisses over my lips. “And I think we’ve found what you want,” he added, closing his hands over mine.

I drew in a shuddering breath, because he was right. He had me trapped—maybe not by reality, but by the promise of my own obedience. The result was the same. I was desperately, hopelessly turned on.

“You like this,” he said. “You’re open to me—open to the world. Down and dirty with me in an alley where anything could happen.” Once again, he leaned in to whisper. Once again, I was struck by how well he knew me. “This excites you, doesn’t it? Not knowing where we’re going next. What’s going to happen. Who might turn that corner. Not knowing if I’m going to kiss you or fuck you.” He paused, and his next words made me moan aloud. “I’ll give you a hint, Angie. I’m going to do both.”

I hadn’t noticed when he’d removed one of his hands from where he gripped mine, but I noticed now that he was trailing his fingers up my thigh, slowly lifting the hem of my skirt as his hand rose higher and higher.

I whimpered a little, but the hand on mine held fast, and he shook his head. One tiny motion. No.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to both the unspoken command and to my own overpowering need to revel in the exhilaration of this moment. He had me pinned against the wall, held in place by his large hand cupped around my wrists. His body was so close to mine I could feel his heat. And his hand was rising higher and higher toward my now-soaked panties, my throbbing clit, and my cunt that was slick with arousal.

Every scrap of reason inside me was screaming that I needed to open my eyes and tell him no. That I needed to walk away. That this was a bad idea and that I knew better and hadn’t I told myself over and over that it was a bad idea to let myself go wild? That nothing good ever came of it.

That I would regret it in the morning.

But I didn’t regret it then. Not one little bit.

I shifted my stance and spread my legs wider—and I was rewarded by his low, sensual growl of approval. Slowly, his fingertip traced the edge of my panties, easing down the side of the V that covered my pubic bone. I whimpered as he teased me mercilessly, his finger grazing over silk and elastic, the edge of his skin barely brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

“Frustrated, beautiful?” he murmured.

My head was back, my breathing fast. “Are you insane?” In my head, I was screaming. In real life, I could barely formulate words. “Jesus, Evan. Please. ”

He spread his fingers so that now he was teasing the indention at the juncture of both my thighs, his strokes light but firm. And never, ever touching the soft flesh beneath the silk or brushing over my tight, demanding clit.

I struggled to pull my hands free, desperate to finish what he had started. But he held me fast, and I wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on my knees and beg. But it was all I could do to draw breath as my body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between my legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give me.

“Please, what?” he asked, as I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.

“Please,” I repeated. “Please everything.”

His low, satisfied chuckle washed over me, teasing my skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over me.

“Touch me,” I demanded.

He bent closer so that his breath tickled my cheek. “I am touching you.”

I wiggled my hips in unspoken demand. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.” He drew his tongue up the edge of my ear, and I bit down on my lip for fear that if I didn’t I would cry out in both pleasure and frustration.

“I want—” I swallowed and tried again. “I want you inside my panties.”

To his credit, he complied, and I sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked my slick, swollen flesh. I was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over my wet flesh was driving me completely insane.

He didn’t, however, touch my clit, and so I had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside me.

I moved my hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what I wanted.

“Demanding thing, aren’t you?” he teased.

“Dammit, Evan, you’re being exceptionally mean.”