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352 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 1, 2016
Another kaleidoscope spin of emotion in his eyes, then they went dark, pupils blowing wide as he gripped her upper arms and bore her back against the wall. The impact drove the air from her lungs. A gasp followed as her senses kicked into overdrive, recording impressions, volatile emotion held in check by strength and power harnessed in service of control. For a second she wondered if the promise of a walk on the edgy, barely restrained side was more than she could handle. But she felt alive, more alive than she had in weeks, maybe months.
Performing plugged her into the vast, creative energy swirling around her, but she’d been slowly withering away in the downtime. She wasn’t withering now. Her body swelled with hot, saturating desire. She stretched into his grip, rolling her shoulders back, shifting against the power in his hands, all that he was using to hold her against the wall. She came up against the edge of what her body could do, felt his thumb press down into her shoulder joints. She lifted her hands, felt the constriction of movement, flattened them against his torso, and pushed.
(…)
It was gently brutal, or brutally gentle, the way his body caged her, restrained her. She wasn’t sure which, only knew that his mouth was soft, almost tender while he used his body, hands and hips and chest and thighs, to hold her exactly where he wanted her. He wanted her pinned, helpless, and completely at his mercy. She gave a hitching little sigh that could have been a sob if he’d let her breathe, then surrendered. “There you go,” he murmured. “There you go.”
Then Conn let out a rough growl, hoisted her right off her feet, and walked her backward, into the wall. Head, shoulders, and hips hit at the same time, knocking the wind from her. His kiss left her no chance to get it back, deep and thorough and definitely, definitely caring about something. Wanting something. “What is it with you and walls?” she gasped when he came up for air.
“Gotta make sure you’re not going anywhere,” he replied.
“You like to tease,” she said.
“I like to take my time. Enjoy it.” He kissed her then, quick and soft, no tongue, just the pressure of lips against lips. “I like to have.” Shaping the words moved his mouth against hers, a different form of contact. She inhaled his breath, the intimacy of the air drawing from his lungs into hers, an intimacy she’d not considered before.
Under normal circumstances the language was old-fashioned, a euphemism for sex, for casual, for fucking. But she meant it in a different way, offering herself to him the way she used to build rapport with an audience at a personal show, starting with something softer, slow tempo, drawing them in without the crutch of an upbeat, driving song, a top-ten hit, a recognizable number. Back when she put herself out there through her music rather than “performed.”


