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When a curvy kindergarten teacher is accused of murder, her life spins wildly out of control. To prove her innocence, she’ll place her trust and her future in the hands of the hot, bossy homicide detective who drives her wild. But can she trust this over-the-top alpha with her heart too?
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A whimper rolls from my lips, heat blasting through me at his threat.
I spin around to face him, banging the back of my head against the doorframe in the process.
His eyes are on fire, lust and frustration turning them a stormy gray.
“Inside,” he commands, leaving no room for argument in that single word.
I swallow convulsively as he pushes the door open and backs me inside, stalking me.
I have no idea what he’s going to do when the door closes behind him. Spank me? Fuck me?
A case of nerves―or overpowering desire―makes me tremble.
He notices. Something flares in his gaze, that same wicked something that drew me in at Mitch’s and again at the Red Room. That naughty, bossy bastard who knows exactly how to bring a girl to her knees. The one who knows precisely how far to push to make her beg for it and how much pleasure she can handle before she breaks. That look should be illegal. He hasn’t even touched me, and I think I’m going to come.
I back away another step and then another, eyeing him warily as I try to decide if I should make a run for it and pray like I hell I get a door locked between us before he catches me, or if I should stay right where I am and let him show me all those filthy things that glint in his eye tells me he’s so, so willing to deliver.
“Stop,” he says, kicking the door to my apartment closed.
I immediately stop walking backward and drop my gaze to the floor.
Cam strides toward me, barely making a sound, or maybe he’s stomping, and I just can’t hear him over the pounding of my heart. He stops in front of me and wraps his hand around the side of my neck, tilting my chin up until my gaze meets his.
“You’re a submissive little thing, aren’t you?” he asks.
He must see the shock on my face because his eyes widen and then that wicked smirk tips the corners of his lips up. The dark, smooth sound of his laugh rips through me, exactly like it did on the phone the other day. His finger sweeps across my bottom lip.
“Oh, kitten, you are definitely submissive,” he says, flashing me that dimple.
He cocks a brow and I instantly stop talking.
Okay, so maybe I am a little submissive. Just a tiny bit.
“Your mouth drives me crazy.” He runs his thumb over my lip again. I think he’s talking to himself more than me this time, his gaze distracted as it follows the path of his finger. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I bet those lips would feel like velvet around my cock, wouldn’t they?”
Those murmured, filthy words should offend the hell out of me. Instead, they pull a low moan from somewhere deep inside. I can’t look away from him. Everything about him in this moment is hypnotic, ensnaring me in his spell.
“I didn’t expect you to be able to sing like a fucking goddess. And then you stood up there and called me out in front of everyone for staring at you? Like I could look away, Ivy. Like anyone could,” he mutters. “Goddamn. I just need one little taste before I help you.”
He kisses me like he can’t get enough, his lips sweeping across mine in gentle brushes before an animalistic groan vibrates in his throat and he goes deeper. His tongue plunges into my mouth to dance across mine as he pulls me closer, one hand tangled in my hair to angle my head, the other on my ass, lifting me into him.
I cry out when he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. The slight sting has me thrusting my hands into his hair as I try to climb his muscular body. His scent surrounds me, drugging me. God, he smells delicious, like heat and liquid sex.
He shifts against me and his erection presses into my stomach. My entire body goes up in flames as he pulls me closer. Our tongues dance together before breaking apart and then coming together again. The silk of his tie is cool against my overheated skin, the fabric of his suit as soft as Egyptian cotton.
“Wh-what are you doing to me?” I gasp, delirious with pleasure.
“Claiming what’s mine,” he says, nipping my bottom lip.
I should tell him no, that I’m not his.
But this man is my own personal storm, and I desperately want to let him rage.