The Dare Collection September 2019. Stefanie London

wait till kingdom fucking come.

      I met her hazel eyes. ‘And what would you like me to do about it?’

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       Ellie

      MY HEART WAS beating so loudly I could hardly hear anything, and I was shaking, hardly able to breathe through the intense hunger that had me in its grip.

      Mr Evans was kneeling in front of my seat, gripping onto the arms, his knuckles white. His scarred face was fierce with the same hunger that was rising in me, his eyes electric on mine.

      Sitting there with my legs spread, holding myself open for him, I’d never felt so vulnerable and yet so weirdly powerful in all my life.

      Doing this was pushing him hard and I knew it. In fact, I could see how close to the edge he was—he didn’t hide it. Yet he wasn’t moving.

      He had all the strength and yet, strangely, I had all the power.

      I’d been hesitant about him looking at me at first, and, to be honest, uncomfortable and a bit scared. Because I’d hated how Mark had done the same thing, staring at me as if I was something he wanted to eat.

      But I didn’t hate Mr Evans looking at me.

      I didn’t hate it at all.

      Not when I could see how hard he was holding himself back. All that strength was tightly leashed, the power of him humming in the air around him like a force field, yet he didn’t release it. He kept it in check.

      Kept himself in check.

      He’d said this was different, but I hadn’t realised how different until now. I hadn’t realised how much I liked him looking at me until now either.

      Being desired wasn’t something I’d wanted, and yet... I wanted to be desired by him. More, I wanted to keep pushing him, to see how far I could go, where his boundaries were, because he must have them.

       A dangerous game, perhaps?

      Maybe, but then I’d always been a fan of danger and the adrenaline rush.

      ‘Well?’ he demanded, the rough edge in his voice making me shiver in delight. ‘Tell me what you want.’

      ‘I want you to keep looking.’ I sounded just as rough as he did. ‘Keep watching.’

      A muscle flickered in his impressive jaw. ‘What are you going to do, pretty?’

      ‘I’ll show you.’ And without taking my gaze from his, I shifted one of my hands, sliding my finger over my clit, sending electricity firing through my body like a switch being thrown.

      Instantly his attention dropped to my hand and what I was doing, that muscle in his jaw jumping again as I slid my finger around my clit once more, rubbing gently.

      Pleasure uncurled inside me, a sweet ache made all the more intense by the way he followed every move I made.

      I’d done this in bed at night, when I couldn’t sleep, when I was feeling restless. Before Mark it had been for fun, but after, I’d done it to try and make myself feel better, to reclaim my feelings for myself.

      I thought it had worked, but right now, with Mr Evans watching me, I knew it hadn’t. This was better than anything I could give myself. Because Mr Evans’s electric gaze didn’t simply blaze over memories of Mark staring at me fixedly during that horrible Christmas party, it replaced those memories entirely.

      Instead of powerlessness and an oily, sick feeling, I felt strong, pleasure humming in my veins. Making me want to keep going, push him even more, wipe out those memories so I’d never think of Mark again.

      I’d never backed down from a challenge, so I kept going.

      I slid one finger inside, going slowly, making sure he watched as I did, lifting my hips and spreading my thighs wider so he got a good view. It felt incredible, pleasure licking up my spine as I watched the flames in his eyes leap high.

      His expression was taut, his jaw hard, and I could almost feel the tension in his body myself. He was still holding himself back and yet it was getting difficult for him.

      Satisfaction unwound inside me and I slid my finger out then back in again, feeling my own wetness and heat, allowing myself to give in to the sheer pleasure of it. To having this powerful man watch me as I touched myself, taut and hungry and not able to touch me. Because I had said so.

      I arched back in my seat, moaning as I moved my finger faster, rubbing at my clit with my other hand, watching him from beneath my lashes, his gaze fixed between my legs.

      I added another finger and he growled, a rumble coming from deep in his chest, a rough, hungry sound. ‘You like to push, don’t you?’

      ‘No fun otherwise.’ I panted, shifting again, moving my hips in time with my hand, electric ripples of pleasure moving through me and making me gasp.

      The blunt, scarred lines of his face became set, his knuckles white where he gripped the armrests. His nostrils flared as if he’d scented me, his focus intensifying.

      Was he near the edge? Was he going to go over like I was? Because I would and very quickly if I wasn’t careful. Watching him watch me was unbelievably erotic and it wouldn’t take much to send me flying.

      But I wanted to see him break first.

      I lifted one leg, hooking it over the armrest, brushing the back of his hand, opening myself up wider so he could get an even better view. And he growled again, a low, rough warning, flashing me a brief, electric glance that told me he was hanging by a thread.

      Exhilaration gripped me, like throwing a car around the track, foot to the floor, seeing how fast you could go and still stay in control. Stay in command.

       Go faster.

      I arched in my seat, sinking both fingers deep inside, moaning softly at the pleasure that rolled through me, letting my thigh rest heavily against the back of his hand.

      He cursed, filthy and low. ‘Miss Little, keep playing with fire and you’re going to get burned.’

      ‘Why?’ I panted. ‘Am I too much for you?’

      And just like that, the warning in his eyes blazed into intent. He shifted, reaching for the hand between my thighs and pulling it away. Then he lifted my slick fingers and drew them into his mouth.

      The suddenness of the movement and the heat of his tongue around my fingers stole every breath I had.

      I gasped as he began to slowly and methodically suck, his gaze on mine. The pressure was gentle and yet I felt it intensely, as if he were sucking on something else. Something far more sensitive.

      I shuddered, my breathing getting faster, the unfulfilled ache between my thighs acute. I wanted to come but suddenly I didn’t want to make myself do it. I wanted him to do it for me.

      And he must have known that, must have read it in my gaze, because he took my hand from his mouth and placed it down on one of the armrests. ‘Hold on,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t let go.’

      Excitement wound through me and part of me wanted to argue with him. But I wanted his touch more, so I obeyed, shivering as he did the same with my other hand, before holding both hands down by covering them with his own. Then he gave me one blazing glance, before he leaned forward and buried his head between my spread thighs.

      Fire burst along every nerve ending I had.

      I arched in the seat, crying out as he pushed his tongue into me, a hard thrust that nearly tipped me over the edge. But not quite. I groaned, shivering all over, the pleasure of it indescribable.

      I’d never had a man do this to me, had never felt the rough prickle of his stubble against my inner thighs, or the