The Dare Collection 2018. Taryn Leigh Taylor

he didn’t want to feel a thing, because he didn’t do feelings and he certainly didn’t do this. He didn’t want anything she was hurling at him to hit its mark and the fact it might have was a problem he should have been off fixing. With prejudice.

      But it was like he didn’t have a choice.

      He crushed his mouth to hers, right out there in the open. Anyone could run up the stairs or come down from above, but he didn’t care the way he knew he should have now that he was all respectable. And known. And the things he did might actually affect the lives of the people who worked for him.

      Responsibility pissed him off. And somehow made him harder, too.

      He slanted his mouth over Maya’s, letting the addictive taste of her flood through him. She was sweet and spicy and intoxicating, and he’d been boned before he started.

      Because she threw him off balance. She made him do things he never did. He didn’t know why he’d left the hotel today. Only that he’d seen her run off down the stairs, and when she hadn’t come back hours later, he’d set out looking for her while pretending that wasn’t exactly what he was doing.

      And when he’d found her, she hadn’t smiled at him the way it turned out he really, really liked her to do. She’d shown him what was beneath that smile instead, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to punch the stone behind her head, fly to Canada to punch her ex or, better yet, slam his own head against the nearest wall until he snapped out of whatever spell this was.

      But with her mouth beneath his, he understood that this was what he’d wanted all along.

      He wanted to eat her alive. He wanted to drown himself in her taste, those wild little sounds she made and the way she launched herself against him, up on her toes to press her body into his.

      He took her mouth, kissing her hard and deep and something like punishing, but whatever he was doling out, she was returning it. And then some.

      And it wasn’t enough.

      He used his chest to press her back against the wall, pinning her there, and then he lifted his head to study the expression on her pretty face. Need and passion warred for control. Her lips were parted, she was still trembling faintly and her eyes were slick and bright with blind desire.

      The only thing Charlie had ever seen that was prettier than this was the face she made when she came.

      And he needed to see it again. Right here, right now.

      He slid one hand over her collarbone and pressed the weight of his palm there. Not choking her, but holding her steadily on that knife’s edge.

      Her pulse kicked at him, rapid and wild. Her breath got short, but she didn’t say a word.

      He crowded into her, slicking his hand down to find her hip and the deliciously stretchy pants she’d worn that held her ass like an offering. He traced the shape of it, firm and tight and round, then moved to the front. He caught that bright, shining gaze of hers, pressed a little harder against her collarbone and then slid his hand beneath the waistband of her pants to cup her between her legs.

      Maya jolted, and her breath went ragged, but all she did was rock her hips toward him as his fingers found their way beneath her panties and into the slick folds of her meltingly hot pussy.

      “You like to shoot off your mouth, don’t you?” he growled at her. He found her clit and pinched it, hard enough to make her squeak a little. She rose up on her toes, but he felt the way she flooded him, telling him the truth. “You think you can taunt me into giving you what you want.”

      “Looks like I was right.”

      He circled her clit once, then again, then stroked down so he could slide two fingers deep inside her.

      “Problem is, now I’m pissed.” He thrust into her, deep, making sure his thumb grazed her clit with each stroke. “I could do this all day. Your pussy is tight. Sweet. I like how it feels on my fingers. And I like the way you taste.”

      He pulled his fingers away from her then, lifting them to his mouth and licking them clean, still holding her gaze.

      Her panting was a little more high-pitched now, and he could feel her shudder against him, over and over.

      Slowly, taking his time, he retraced his steps. Hip to ass, then back to that delicious pussy of hers. He found her clit again, playing with it until she bucked against him and then stroking his way into her again.

      She was wetter now. Hotter. She moved her hips in that insistent, drugging rhythm that he knew could bring him to his knees if he let it. And that only pissed him off more, so he drew it out. He brought her higher and higher—

      And then, instead of tossing her over the edge, he held her there.

      “No...” Her voice was broken. Rough. Her eyes were glazed over with need.

      But Charlie was merciless. And more, he wanted her to suffer. He wanted her out of her head, wild and beside herself.

      He was only getting started.

      He pulled his hand away again and took his time licking her sweetness from his fingers while she trembled, caught between him and the stone wall at her back.

      “Fine,” she panted at him. “If you won’t do it, I’ll take care of myself. It’s the fucking anthem of my life.”

      Charlie laughed at that, hard and maybe a little mean. “Not today, babe.”

      He caught her hands as she brought them down to her own waistband, then hauled them above her head. He pinned her there, holding her wrists in one hand and pressing them back against the wall so she was splayed out before him in a sweet, curvy arc. All woman. All his.

      “You bastard,” she threw at him, but she didn’t try to pull her hands away. She didn’t struggle to do anything, except rock her hips toward his and arch herself against his chest.

      He laughed again, even darker this time. “As a matter of fact, yes. I am a bastard. My mama had me after a long night with a stranger she met in a bar. I didn’t know his name for most of my life. And I don’t really think you give a shit about the life and times of an illegitimate dirtbag from Nowhere You’d Want to Go, Texas.”

      “You can’t—”

      “But I can.”

      He showed her, just to get his point across. This time, he only reached down between them to cup her pussy through the stretchy pants she wore. He held her there, working her back up toward that ragged edge again.

      And then, once more, leaving her there at the last second.

      Her breath hissed out from between her teeth. He could see that she was sweating, her skin deliciously hot in the cool air.

      This time, she didn’t call him names. She rocked her hips almost helplessly, and he could feel the tension in her wrists where he held them above her head.

      “You don’t get what you want by sandbagging me with your crap,” he told her, his voice dark. There were too many things inside him, and he couldn’t name them all. But he knew this: he knew the dark side of desire and the sharp edge of control. “I’m not the kind of man you can manipulate with your temper. Piss me off all you want, Maya. But you don’t get to come unless I say so.”

      Her dark eyes sparked with defiance. “I can make myself come. I don’t need you.”

      “I can tell how much you don’t need me,” he growled as her hips jerked toward him, seemingly of their own accord. “You might think I’m an asshole, babe. And you’re not wrong. But your body thinks I’m God.”

      “An orgasm is an orgasm.”

      “Keep telling yourself that.”

      “I don’t need—”

      Charlie got closer, pressing her farther into the stone at her back. “Did he make you come