Dark, sensual laughter teases across his lips. With his gaze locked on mine, he sinks his elbows down onto his splayed thighs and lets his wrists dangle between them. Kicking up his chin, he murmurs, “I was yours the second you called me a self-righteous, home-wrecking bastard.”

Embarrassment catches in my throat. “A little sadistic of you to get off on that, don’t you think?”

“Come here, Miss Donna, and I’ll show you how much I liked it.”

It’s almost a purr, the way he orders me to his side. His golden eyes are bright with devilry and his cheeks already stained with a flush of color. He holds out a single hand, palm tilted up toward the ceiling, exactly how he’s tempted me before. Beneath all those hard muscles and that careful reserve, Reid Paxton is a man who feels too much, all at once—just like me.

Shifting forward, I drop my hands to the carpet.

And then I crawl.

My smile is sly, pointed, a reminder that I won’t be submissive for much longer. Based on the challenge sparking to life in his gaze, he’s more than willing to step onto the battlefield and see who comes out the victor.

Placing my hand in his, I let him pull me into the V of his thighs.

A low, possessive growl escapes him just before his work-roughened palms dance across my bare shoulders. “Fucking beautiful,” he grits out, slipping his hands down over the outside of my arms to cup my elbows. “Sit up for me.”

I place my hands on his thighs instead.

Knead the tense muscles hard enough to make all the blood in his body rush south.

“Laela . . .”

It’s a warning, the way my name spills out of him. One that I happily ignore.

With nimble fingers, I undo the brass button of his jeans. Flicking my gaze up, I pointedly hold his stare as I tug on the metal tab and inch it down, down, down. Reid’s lips part on a ragged exhale. He lets me go as if I’ve scorched him, grasping the stuffed armrests with the sort of keening desperation that makes my heart pound that much harder.

I palm his cock through the denim, running the heel of my hand up his length. A flick of my thumb and forefinger, and his jeans part open to reveal his erection straining against the cotton of his briefs. “Should I make you come like a fumbling teenager?” I murmur lightly.

His head falls back.