My mouth drops open as I take in the image hanging from my neighbor’s large hand.
It’s me, but it’s…
Wow.
The flush crawling up my cheeks deepens.
It’s me, laid out on the prop bed from the photo shoot, with the fluffy comforter bunched up beneath me and my hands above my head, one of my knees bent to the side.
I had fun that day, pretending to be a model. Pretending I was a total sexpot. But I didn’t get to see any of the photos. That’s the deal. Trust the photographer, and she picks the best ones to put in the book.
And goddamn, that photographer earned every single dollar I paid her.
Hans shifts his grip, and the page flips, a new, equally provocative image revealing itself.
Then my brain glitches back into reality, and I remember what’s happening.
Hans is holding the book.
He is here.
He’s seen the photos.
And for some reason… he’s mad.
I reach for the book, but his free hand darts out and grips my wrist, holding it between us.
He lowers his gaze from mine, and I know the moment he looks past the hand he’s holding captive and to my chest.
His nostrils flare, and I swear his jaw clenches.
And in reaction, my already tight nipples harden further against my thin shirt. The fabric feels like sweet torture, and knowing he’s looking sends a jolt down my belly to between my legs.
I try to remember what he was saying. I’m pretty sure Hans asked me a question.
But all I can concentrate on is his nearness. The heat of his body so close to mine. The way the skin on my wrist feels under his grip.
I inhale, trying to clear my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. Because it just fills my final sense with him. This man and pine scent. The one that haunts me through this house whenever I think too much about him.
“Hans.” His name comes out as a whisper.
He shifts closer, our hands now pressed between our bodies. “Who took the photos, Cassandra?”
Cassandra.
My name said in his voice… Why is it so sinful?
“Who?” he repeats.
“It was a photographer,” I answer like a moron.
“Give me his name.” Hans leans closer.
And I feel…
My body arches on its own against him.
He’s hard.
For me.
Satisfied pride swamps me.
I don’t know what’s going on. This is the most Hans has ever said to me.
He’s in my house. Barged in without an invitation. Shouting my name. Because he’s turned on. And…
Wait.
“Are you jealous?” I can’t keep the inappropriate excitement out of my tone.
He lowers the hand holding the book.
I don’t turn away from him, but I watch from the corner of my eye as he tucks the book behind the back cushion on my couch.
Then, with his hand empty, he reaches up and grips the base of my ponytail. “Don’t push me, Butterfly.”
His hold is tight, and with the smallest tug, he tips my head back.
My body lights all the way up.
He shifts forward again, not stopping until our bodies are flush and I’m thoroughly trapped between him and the back of the couch. “Tell me who took them and who you took them for. I won’t ask you again.”
With the hand not in his grip, I reach out and grab at his black T-shirt to steady myself.
His muscles bunch under my touch, and I realize just how solid he is.
I don’t answer. I don’t mean to not answer. I just still can’t believe what’s happening.
“You have until the count of three to tell me,” Hans demands.
Holy hell.
“What happens on three?” I breathe out.
He presses his hips into mine. “Something you won’t like, Girl. Now answer me.”
I don’t believe him.
I think I will like it.
My breath comes out faster.
I think I’ll like it a lot.
“One.” He lets go of my wrist and moves his hand to my hip, the other hand still gripping my hair.
His fingers press into my soft flesh through my baggy shirt.
With his hold on my wrist gone, I use that hand to grab his other side.
His shirt is not baggy. It’s practically plastered to his toned body.
This man is freaking ripped.
“Two.” Hans tightens his grip on my hair, and the tug is just enough. Just enough to drag a whimper from my throat.
“Cassandra,” Hans growls.
“It was a lady.” I hurry the words out. Not because I don’t want the punishment; I want that very much, but I also want to tell him. I want to give him what he wants. “The photographer was a lady.”
I stare up into his dark eyes as he takes in my answer.
Hans leans his face toward mine until I can feel his exhales puff against my skin. “Who are they for?”
“N-no one,” I try to tell him, but it comes out sounding like a lie.
“Three.”
Before I have time to process what’s happening, his mouth slams down onto mine.
His lips are unforgiving.
Harsh.
Warm.
Fantastic.
Hans uses his grip on my ponytail to tilt my head, and I let him. I let him control me.
His tongue demands entry, and I open.
He tastes like…
I close my lips around his tongue.
He tastes like candy. Like sugar and fruit and childhood memories.
Hans groans and slides his tongue deeper into my mouth.
My mind is fuzzy with desire, but I still want more.
More contact. More skin. More Hans.
I slide my hands up his body, up his chest, over his bunching muscles, until I grip his shoulders.
Our teeth click together when we both open our mouths wider.
I must be dreaming.
I curl my fingers, letting my nails dig into his shirt, confirming this is real.
Hans rocks into me. His hard length digs into my belly, and I lift my leg, hooking my foot around the back of his thigh.
I don’t know what I’m trying to do. But whatever my body is thinking, his is thinking it too.
The hand on my hip slides around to my lower back. Then lower still.
He palms my ass, but he keeps sliding lower until his hand is between my legs, cupping my pussy from behind.
Right as I tilt my head back to suck in a breath, he lifts me. With one hand. And sets me on the back of the couch.
My legs automatically spread, and Hans steps forward to fill the space between us.
His hold on me is almost too much. The hand in my hair, and the one beneath me, between my legs.
“Who are the photos for?” Hans releases my hair and drags his hand down my neck.
I try to elongate my spine, try to stretch my body in a way that will force his hand to my chest.
“Cassandra,” he snaps this time.
“Me,” I admit on a tortured moan. “They were a birthday present for me.”
The fingers against my core flex. My thin shorts and panties are the only thing separating his touch from my entrance.
“Jesus,” I pant.
He shakes his head. “You use my name while I’m touching you.”
“S-sorry.” I can’t believe I just apologized for that.
The hand on my neck lowers until he’s squeezing my breast. “Who are the photos for?”
He pinches my nipple through the fabric as he flexes his other fingers again.
“You.” I claw at his shoulders and wiggle against the hand beneath me. “They’re for you.”
It’s not even a lie. Every time I’ve fantasized about a man since moving in, it’s been him. When the photographer told me to imagine someone I wanted to seduce, I pictured him.
“That’s a good girl.” Hans tugs on my nipple.
“Hans,” I cry, so close to coming.
I don’t want to be in this alone, but I’m not sure how to ask him to join me.
The look on my face must say it all.
Hans rumbles out a sound through his chest, then his mouth is back on mine.
This man has never said so much as a sentence to me before today. He’s a complete stranger to me. But if he pulled that thick dick out of his jeans right now, I’d let him fuck me raw atop this couch.
My neighbor uses the hand under me to hold me in place as he presses his hips harder against mine, grinding against me.
Our groans meld together as we both feel the press of his length against my core.
I tilt my hips, urging his dick to press harder against my clit.
His teeth scrape against my bottom lip, and my body tenses, preparing for release.
Oh god, I’m going to come in my shorts.
And I don’t care.
I tighten my legs around him, but then something vibrates against my inner thigh, where his pocket is.
Hans palms my other breast, its size filling his large hands, and I want him to pull on my nipple again.
His pocket vibrates a second time.
“Fuck.” He pulls his mouth from mine.
We stare at each other while we feel it vibrate a third time.
Texts. This man is getting texts while I’m having the most intensely sexual moment of my life.
