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  He moves his hand from mine, places his hands on my waist, and presses his hardness against my ass, and I can't think of anything except what he would feel like inside me. "Open the door, because we both know that you want me," he says.

  I choke out a laugh. "Shit, you're full of yourself."

  But I open the door. And the second we step inside, Luke shuts the door, slamming me hard against it before reaching up to turn the lock. He slides his hand under my shirt, the movement furious, cupping my breast, his finger finding its way under the fabric of my bra. My nipple hardens immediately to his touch, and he smiles as he watches me writhe under him. It's exquisite pleasure when he touches me, and he knows it.

  "Full of myself?" he asks, his lips so close to mine they're nearly touching. I want to feel his lips again. I ache for him to kiss me.

  "Full of yourself," I say, my words catching in my throat. "Yes. Exactly. Definitely full of yourself."

  "You'd love to be full of me," he says, grinning as he thumbs my nipple, and I think I might come from the sensation alone.

  "You're juvenile," I say, and he slides his hand from my shirt. For a second, I think he's taken it away, a reaction to me insulting him, but he reaches lower to my waistband, flicking open the button of my pants with a single, obviously well-practiced motion. He yanks my jeans over my hips and slips his hand down the front of my panties before I can even register what he's doing.

  When I do realize, I put my hand against his chest, half-heartedly intending to push him away, to tell him I can't possibly do something like this, up against the front door of my house, no less. But then he's sliding his fingers over my clit, the sensation that ricochets through my body nearly making my knees buckle, and I have to cling to the fabric of his shirt to even stay upright.

  "Juvenile," he says, his mouth close to mine. "Tell me you still think I'm fucking juvenile now, Red."

  He rolls his fingers over my clit, stroking me until my brain is entirely enveloped in a fog of need and desire, until I can't possibly think clearly.

  "I – " I start, but I stop myself. I can't remember why I was objecting before.

  "What, Red?" he whispers. His eyes are trained on mine as he slips his fingers lower. "You're so fucking wet, so fucking hot for me right now. I'll bet your pussy is throbbing for me. Just admit it. Say it for me."

  When he presses his fingers against me, I inhale sharply. "I am," I say, my voice barely audible. "I'm so…wet."

  Luke groans loudly, bringing his mouth down on mine as he plunges two fingers inside me in one swift movement. His other hand comes around the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, gripping the roots, pulling me into him. He kisses me like he owns me, dominant and possessive, in a way no one's ever kissed me before.

  And what he does with his fingers inside me, the way he strokes me, isn't like anyone's ever touched me before. He plays me with his fingers like he already knows me, and every part of my body feels alive, positively buzzing with electricity.

  When he pulls his lips away from mine, his eyes are filled with lust. "I've wanted this since I first saw you," he says, his fingers still working their magic inside me.

  I reach for the button on his pants, but he just laughs.

  "Not so fast," he growls. "First, I'm going to make you come right here on my fingers, right in the doorway of your house. Then, I'm going to rip those jeans right off you, and lick you until you come again on my tongue. Then, and only then do you have permission to reach for my cock."

  "I have permission?" I ask, the question punctuated by short breaths, gasps I can't help as Luke presses his fingertips inside me, against the place that sends me hurtling closer to the edge. "You're so…fucking…arrogant…"

  Luke just grins. "You heard what I said. Permission," he says. "And I'm not arrogant. I'm just honest."

  He continues to stroke me, bringing me higher and higher, and I cling to him, desperately wanting to reach out and undo the button of his jeans, to wrap my hand around his cock. I can see it, his hardness clearly outlined, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and the sight nearly pushes me over the edge.

  "You're…so…fuck…" I want to tell him how cocky he is, how ridiculous, tell him that no one has ever to me like this, told me exactly what he plans to do to me. But I can't put anything into words when this ridiculously arrogant man has his fingers buried so deeply inside me.

  I can't think clearly when this man makes me drunk with lust, shuts off the rational part of my brain, the part of me that makes smart decisions.

  Decisions that are exactly the opposite of this one.

  Then Luke whispers into my ear. "You fucking love it, Red," he says. "It was written all over you, from the first day I saw you. You wanted me from the second you laid eyes on me, too. You just like denying it. But I know you've been wet between your legs for me."

  "That's…oh God…not…true."

  Luke pauses, unmoving, and I moan, the sound needy, unable to help myself. "Are you saying you want me to stop, Red?"

  Do I want him to stop?

  I should want him to stop. He's immature, young, reckless. I don't do spontaneous. I don't have one-night-stands. And I certainly don't let a guy a decade younger than me rip my jeans down my thighs and finger me in broad daylight in the doorway of my house.

  But I look into the eyes of the man who's doing exactly that, and I don't want him to stop. "No," I say, the word barely more than a whisper.

  But he doesn't move, doesn't give me the release I crave. "Sorry, Red," he says. "I'm not sure I heard you."

  I swear my knees are about to buckle under the weight of my neediness. "No," I say. "I do…not…want you to stop."

  Luke chuckles, pressing hard against that spot inside me, the one that makes me moan. "That's better," he says. "Now, sweetheart, I want you to come for me, because I've been dying to put my tongue between your legs since the first time I saw you, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

  He covers my mouth with his before I can even react, stroking me harder, and the combination of everything overwhelms my senses. I come with blinding intensity, clinging to him as my touchstone when I crash over the edge, my moan muted by his mouth.

  When he pulls back, he gives me a look that’s so self-satisfied, so damn pleased with himself that I’d almost want to slap the smirk off his face if he just weren’t so sexy. Then he squats down and yanks my jeans down my legs in one swift pull and looks up at me, his eyebrows raised. “Pants off,” he says. “Now.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Luke

  She doesn't argue, doesn't open that smart fucking mouth of hers, that damned self-assured smartass mouth that inexplicably makes me so hard, ready to bend her over and fuck her at a moment's notice.

  And that is exactly what I want to do now. I want this girl on her knees, her sweet lips wrapped around my cock. I want to bend her over, put her palms against the door, and thrust my cock inside her. I want to yank her hair, feel her tighten around me, hear her call my name when she comes, the way I know she wants to.

  I want this girl in every way possible.

  I want to claim her.

  I want to own her.

  The thoughts pop into my head, and I force them away – especially the last one. It’s a stupid fucking thought, one I’ve never had about anyone before.

  And I don’t spin her around. I don’t put her palms against the door. I don’t bend her over, smack her ass while I thrust inside her.

  Yet.

  She looks down at me, face flushed, lips plumped and swollen from mine being pressed against them, her breasts heaving as she gasps, and I know by the expression on her face that no one has made her come like that before.

  That makes me want to take my time with her.

  I slide my hands up her legs, around her thighs, until I reach the sides of her panties. Her hands go automatically to them, as if she’s trying to keep them on, the gesture self-conscious, which makes her somehow more endearing.