Page 98 of Shark’s Edge

“This is all I’ve been able to think about too. I don’t have the confidence you do, true. I’m nervous. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I like what you’ve been doing. It doesn’t feel anything other than amazing—and right. I’m not scared of you, if that’s what concerns you.” She paused then, waiting for something, but I wasn’t quite sure what. Maybe for me to tell her she should be or something predictable like that. Instead, I continued stroking her hand, giving her time to work through what she needed to say.

“I’m nervous, but it’s excitement. Like, I don’t know . . . the top of the big hill on a roller coaster? You’re excited and scared, but it’s a happy kind of scared, not a terrified kind of scared.” She looked at me carefully and offered a self-deprecating chuckle. “Am I making sense at all?”

“Yes, it makes complete sense. But you must realize”—I surged my whole body forward, pressing her down into the seat cushions of the sofa so she lay beneath me—“like the first drop on that roller coaster, I’m going to push you over the edge.” I loomed above her, not letting my full weight on top of her but enough that she was pinned.

Helpless.

“You are so fucking beautiful. Have I told you that?” Supporting myself on elbows along either side of her face, I stroked my fingers through her silky hair.

“No. I don’t think you have.” She smiled in a way I hadn’t seen before, enjoying the compliment straight through to her soul. I could only guess in a house full of brothers, she didn’t hear that enough. I made a mental note to tell her every single day from now on.

“Is this the night you want to do this, Abbigail? We don’t have to rush this. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes. Tonight. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

I’d had a feeling that would be her answer, but I would continue to give her the option to tap out until the very last second, as I’d said I would. But kissing her when her mouth was this close to mine couldn’t be stopped. Our lips came together with need and hunger while our tongues danced with one another’s. Slow and soft and then harder and more insistent.

“Well, it’s not going to be on your sofa the first time. Where’s your bedroom?”

With the will of twenty men, I dragged my body off her very pliant one and helped her stand. I motioned with a sweeping hand for her to lead the way, taking the opportunity to gawk at her ass while we went down the short hall to her bedroom. The smooth concrete floor carried through the entire condo, including the bedroom, where another colorful area rug covered most of the floor not occupied by furniture. The en suite bathroom light cast a soft glow over the room, and I excused myself to freshen up—and, honestly, to gather my wits for a few minutes.

How in the actual fuck was I going to deal with this? My own ancient history and enough horror stories from other men—urban legends, hopefully, about blood and tears and horrible pain ruining the whole experience. Granted, blood and tears didn’t usually deter me in the bedroom. Quite the opposite, usually. But in those cases, it was intentional and consensual and not because the woman was untried.

Pull on the man pants, Bas.

A quick text to Joel that I’d be here a while and then a check of my wallet to make sure I had a few condoms. I couldn’t remember reloading after the last time I’d used the usual stash I’d kept in there, and a surge of panic had me whipping through the billfold like a teenager on prom night.

I splashed my face with water and dried off. Gave myself a once-over in the mirror . . . for what? Not really sure, other than I was stalling. That was all there was to it. If Grant saw me right now, I’d never hear the end of it. After a deep, fortifying breath, I opened the door to go back into the bedroom.

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

My God, this woman. She lay on her bed, covers pulled down to the foot of the mattress. She was a goddess. A perfect female offering of bare flesh and flowing red hair. Positioned perfectly on the center of the platform like a sacrificial lamb to a lustful god.

Yes. Sign me up. I’d be that god tonight. My fingers tingled, and my cock jerked. My mouth watered—actually surged with saliva as though I was approaching a buffet of my favorite delicacies.

“Oh, Little Red,” I groaned. “Look at you, pretty baby.” I stood and stared at her, holding her gaze with mine for several long moments. She transfixed me. Incapacitated me with need.

I had come out of the bathroom with my belt and slacks undone, so my pants rested low around my hips. The top few inches of my erection were exposed. I was so thankful I wasn’t completely confined by material as I swelled even more from viewing her.

So available.

So perfect.

So mine.

Pump the brakes, chief. You haven’t even touched her yet. Or tasted her.

I unbuttoned my dress shirt and prowled toward her. Slowly. One button, one step. Never losing the eye contact that was anchoring me to her. To the moment. One button. One step. No rush.

“Sebastian . . . ” My name sounded more like an entreaty. An appeal to the merciful man somewhere inside me.

A laugh threatened to spill free. Silly girl. A man as such didn’t exist inside this shell. Never had. Likely never would. “What is it, baby?” I untethered the last button and let the shirt hang open on my body as I stood right beside the bed.

Abbi reached a hand up to touch me, but I stopped her by backing just out of reach, tutting a reprimand.

“Ahh-ahh. You keep your hands by your sides for now, Little Red.”

“What? Why?” she implored softly.