The Dare Collection September 2019. Stefanie London

      Fuck, yes.

      Which made me too much for this sweet-faced girl, no matter how badly she called to the warrior in me.

      The blonde would have been able to handle me. The blonde knew what she was getting into.

       You don’t want the blonde.

      And that was the problem. I didn’t.

      ‘Say that again, and there will be consequences.’ I didn’t disguise the naked threat in my voice. It was explicit.

      She didn’t appear to hear it. ‘So you keep saying. What exactly are these consequences, then?’

      ‘You don’t want to know.’

      ‘If you’re too bloody afraid to say them out loud then maybe you shouldn’t go throwing vague threats around.’ Gold glittered briefly in her eyes. ‘Mate.’

      If that wasn’t a gauntlet thrown down, I didn’t know what was.

      Exhilaration pulsed through me and I leaned forward, getting in her face, giving her a taste of what it would be like to tangle with me and enjoying the way her breath caught in response.

      ‘You’re a pretty thing, Miss Little. And pretty things shouldn’t mess with men like me.’

      ‘Pretty thing?’ she echoed, incredulous. ‘Dude, seriously?’

      ‘You’re pretty and you’re a little thing.’ I leaned forward even more, getting closer. ‘And I eat pretty little things for breakfast.’

      We were almost nose to nose, but she didn’t move away or back down. She was so close. Close enough for me to see the fine grain of her skin and the sparks of gold and green glowing in her eyes. To feel the heat of her body and smell the warm, musky scent of her.

      Her pulse beat fast at the base of her throat and her mouth looked soft and kissable. Fuckable, too.

      ‘That’s not at all patronising.’ She glared at me. ‘How would you like it if I called you...big dick or something?’

      Oh, yes, I was getting to her. I very definitely was.

      Desire spiked in my blood, a hot, raw feeling. ‘I’d like it just fine,’ I said roughly, trying to resist the urge to grab her hand, draw it over my fly and hold it down so she could feel how big I actually was.

      She went scarlet and I didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped to my groin, where my cock was pressing hard against the denim. ‘Of course you would,’ she muttered. ‘But firstly, I’m not pretty or a thing. And secondly, you’re not...uh...’ She stopped.

      ‘Big?’ I finished. ‘Are you sure about that?’

      Her hazel gaze flicked up, the fire I’d sensed in her beginning to ignite. ‘What? You want me to check?’ She sounded defiant and angry, yet the heat in her eyes told a different story.

      I went very still. ‘Be careful what you ask for, Miss Little. Because you might just get it.’

      She stared at me, no trace of that sunny smile evident now. ‘You think I can’t handle you?’

      ‘I know you can’t handle me.’

      ‘Oh, yeah?’ Heat flared in her eyes. ‘Try me.’

      I shouldn’t have goaded her, because I knew what her reaction would be. And I knew myself. I knew what I liked. And the fact that she was responding without fear, without being intimidated by me...

      Christ, it was the biggest turn-on I’d had in years.

      I wanted to see what she would do, whether she’d rise to the challenge. Whether I could get under her skin as deeply as she was getting under mine.

      ‘You want to touch me?’ I said it out loud so there could be no mistake. ‘You want to feel me for yourself?’

      She didn’t blink this time. Not once. ‘Yes.’

      The word was thick and breathed out, making my fucking cock ache, and I had to grit my teeth against the intense rush of desire.

      ‘Give me your hand, then.’ I tried not to make it an order.

      Without hesitation, she held out her hand and I took it. Her palm was small, her fingers delicate, her skin very soft. Electricity bolted the length of my arm, a direct line straight to my dick.

      And she must have felt it, too, because her breath caught, her eyes widening. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, her chin lifted higher.

      So I slowly drew her hand to where I wanted it, over the front of my jeans, holding her gaze all the while. And she never once looked away, the fire in her eyes burning brighter, hotter.

      I held her palm down, letting her feel how hard I was. Letting the heat of her hand seep through the fabric and into me.

      Her pretty mouth became a perfect O of surprise as her fingers closed over my aching hard-on. Then, finally, she looked down. ‘Oh...uh...wow.’

      I wasn’t sixteen any more. I didn’t need a woman to look in awe at my cock. So why I felt such pleasure at her reaction I had no idea and, like so many of my interactions with this fascinating woman, it irritated the hell out of me, even as it turned me on.

      ‘I did tell you,’ I bit out, my voice much rougher than it should have been.

      The flush in her cheeks showed no sign of abating. ‘Sorry, that sounded dumb. But seriously...’ Her gaze rose to mine, searching. ‘Does that...uh...feel good? When I touch you, I mean?’

      I should have stopped her. I should have taken her hand off me and got out of the car. Because I was crossing a line here and I knew it.

      But I didn’t do either of those things.

      ‘Yes.’ I held her fascinated gaze. ‘It feels fucking good.’

      Her mouth curved, as if she was pleased with the news. Then she bit her lower lip, her fingers moving hesitantly over me, tracing the line of my dick through the denim, watching my face intently as she did so.

      I’d never been looked at like that before, not even when I’d been street fighting and an opponent was sizing me up. Sex for me was usually about making my partner come and come hard, that was how I got off. They generally didn’t pay me the same attention, mainly because I refused to let them.

      So I didn’t know why I was letting her now. But, Christ, it was good. Too good. My muscles went tight, my jaw aching.

      ‘Wow,’ she murmured for the second time. ‘You’re really hot. Like an engine.’

      An engine? What the hell?

      But then her fingers spread out and she gave me an experimental squeeze, and all thoughts vanished from my head as a wave of pleasure rolled over me.

      ‘Fuck,’ I muttered hoarsely, my hands closing into fists to stop myself from reaching for her.

      A crease deepened between her silky dark brows. ‘Sorry. Was that too hard?’

      ‘No.’ I could barely get the word out. ‘But you’re done.’

      My control was good but it wasn’t limitless.

      ‘Oh?’ She frowned. ‘But I haven’t finished checking.’

      I glowered, my prick throbbing, lust firing in my blood, my temper in no way helped by the firmness of her grip. ‘Yes, you have. I suggest you take your hand off me now, Miss Little. I’m not made of fucking stone.’

      There was an intensity in her stare now, as if she was weighing something up in her head, and she didn’t take her hand away, the heat of her palm destroying me second by tantalising second. ‘Are you sure? I mean... I could do something about it, if you like.’

      Oh, Christ.

      There were so many fucking