Overdrive by Chloe Cole Page A

forward, nestling her head into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He pinched his eyes shut and counted silently until the initial shock of her scent and the lush press of her curves wore off. He got to eighty before he regained control.
    She seemed perfectly content to stay where she was, but instead of getting better, his situation was getting more and more dire by the second. “Okay,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Lift your leg up.”
    She nodded into his chest and slung her leg—the bare one—high over his hip. Blood pounded in his ears as the soft heat of her pussy pressed against his thigh.
    “The other leg, Mike,” he ground out.
    She nodded again and slipped her hands to his shoulders, launching herself in the air and hooking her jeans-clad leg around his other hip to straddle him.
    Poor word choice. “I meant switch legs, not both.”
    She started to slip, and he instinctively grabbed her to keep her from falling. Unfortunately, the most natural handhold left him with two palms full of luscious ass.
    Staring at him through wide eyes, she mumbled, “Well this is nice,” and wiggled against him, her almost-bare sex rubbing against his throbbing cock.
    “Jesus, Mike, stop it.”
    “Why? What do I have to stop? It feels really good. Doesn’t it feel good to you?” She did it again to make her point. He tried to stay still, but his fingertips flexed deeper into the soft flesh of her bottom.
    He groaned. And she heard him. Even the room seemed to hold its breath until she broke the deafening silence.
    “You want me?” She sounded afraid.
    She should be.
    He started to shake.
    “Tomas?”
    “No.” The word felt like it was ripped out of him. There was nothing in the world he’d ever wanted more than he wanted her right now, but she was drunk. Worse, even if she were sober, she wasn’t for the likes of him. They’d both always known that.
    Her face crumpled, and she pushed her hands against his chest to escape. “Let me go. Just let me go. I’m tired of making a fool of myself over you, so let me go, dammit.”
    Defeated, he stared into her tear-filled eyes. “You don’t get it, do you, babe? It’s not that I don’t want you. I want you too much.”
     
    Tomas’s intense, chocolate gaze held hers captive. “The things I want to do to you… Jesus, Mike, none of it’s nice. Do you get what I’m telling you?” His husky voice was tinged with desperation.
    Heat pooled between her thighs as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. Was the tequila addling her to the point that she’d heard him wrong? And if she’d heard him right, did she get it?
    Her heart thudded, and she weighed her response. In truth, she had no idea what he meant, and the fear of the unknown assailed her. But if she said no ? The answer made her blood run cold and chased her pleasant buzz into oblivion. He wouldn’t sleep with her unless she was going into it with eyes wide open. If she wasn’t, he would walk away from her again. She could bear anything but that.
    “I get it,” she said in as firm a voice as she could manage. Then she wet her lips and rocked onto her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his in a soft kiss.
    He groaned as her tongue swept along his. His hands slipped down, closing over her hips, urging her closer. Giddy with elation, she moved to wrap her arms around him when suddenly he pulled away, thrusting her from him as if she were on fire.
    “I don’t think you do.” His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flaring.
    She flicked a glance downward and could make out the thick shape of his erection straining against his zipper. He was a man on the edge. Now she needed to push him over. “Make love to me, Tomas.” Desperate, she decided she would take whatever she could get. “Give me one night,” she whispered. Then maybe she could convince him that one night wasn’t enough.
    His jaw tightened, and he ran an impatient hand through his hair. “And now I know you