Dirty Gentleman by Christy Pastore

Author:Christy Pastore [Pastore, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Christy Pastore Publishing
Published: 2022-04-21T18:30:00+00:00

I’M NOT PREPARED FOR THE lust that surges beneath my skin as he stares at me.

The two of us have been dancing around on the razor’s edge of our truth. The truth of our strong desire pulling us toward one another. And that pull wreaks constant havoc on my body and my mind.

I feel it every time he looks at me. Touches me. Talks to me.

“You’re beautiful, Lauren,” he says. His finger trickles down the side of my arm, and he plucks the glass from my hand.

It’s nice to feel beautiful. Wanted. Desired. Damen makes me feel all those things.

All the while my body screams, “Take me! Rip the albatross that is my virginity from my neck.”

“You’re so sexy,” I tell him.

A ghost of a smile hits his lips and I feel foolish because Damen is eight years older than me. He’s probably been with dozens of women. Experienced women. Women who know about sex and all things pleasure.

How can I even know what to do with a man like Damen Kallas? I can’t possibly give him what he needs. I’ve only given a few hand jobs. Did I even do it right? Was I any good?

Damen would have to teach me. Tell me what he likes.

Embarrassment crashes into me and I feel ridiculous at the thought of asking Damen to show me what he likes. I’ve been a tease, playing with a heat that is just too hot.

His hand settles on my waist and goose bumps pulse from under his hand and across my body.

I smooth my hand up his arm. It seems like the natural thing to do, though I know it’s not.

His hand strokes lower, inching the fabric of my nightshirt up and over my hips. Air rushes along my skin, making me shiver.

“Tell me something, Lauren. How wet are you right now?” The lazy grin that stretches over his face sends shivers rippling down my spine.

I don’t have an answer. What am I supposed to say? I know that my panties are soaked just from him touching me. He hasn’t even kissed me, and I feel the wetness spreading.

I’ve lost control of my body.

Will he make fun of me like my high school boyfriend did? In college, a guy I dated told me to change my underwear when he kicked me out of his bed.

Ugh.

His lips hover over mine. “Tell me that you’re not wet for me.”

The ache grows stronger, sending a rush of dampness against the fabric. My body betraying me and crumbling with the intolerable need.

“I’m not . . . I’m not wet for you.”

“You’re a little liar, Lauren. I knew it the moment I met you.” His hand skates over my stomach and up my ribcage. Every inch he travels sends sparks along my skin; unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

His tongue licks over his bottom lip. “You want this. You want me. You want us, but you shouldn’t.”

I tremble. Lusting for him at the same time loving the forbidden rush.

“I should punish you for lying to me,” he whispers in my ear.

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