He stepped closer to me, forcing my legs to open wider. I was still in borrowed clothes, which were way too big, but I could feel his heat and his hardness between my legs. It made me lightheaded and had my skin warming and my pulse pounding. He was so big it was easy to get overwhelmed by him, but it was his eyes and the way they were trying to take me apart that had me shivering. The man seemed like he could peer directly into my soul, and he didn’t appear to mind all the grime and filth that clung to it. In fact, the tattered conditions of my insides were nothing compared to the ravages of his. I’d held onto what was left with both hands, he’d let his go entirely and was just now starting to notice the loss.

“What if I want more than what you give me?” He hadn’t had much of anything since his sister died. If I wasn’t careful, he would take all I had and leave me with nothing. I couldn’t let that happen again. I felt the heat of the words as he touched my mouth. Perched up on the counter, I was almost eye level with him, and all of my most interested parts were lined up perfectly with the parts of him that felt just as attentive. The press of his hardness between my legs was making my breath shaky and nipples hard.

“Don’t be greedy. You can always ask for more if you aren’t satisfied.” The double entendre made his lips twitch and I moved my fingers from the back of his neck so that I could trace the scar on the side of his head. He watched me silently as my touch moved to the barcode inked behind his ear. His skin was hot and the gentle caress made his entire massive frame stiffen in front of me. I blinked and told him quietly, “You’re distracting, too, Snow.” I liked his first name. It made him more human. There was nothing cold or distant about him now that he was pressed against me.

He grunted a response and bent so he could close the last inch or so that separated his mouth from mine. My fingers raked across the short hair at the back of his head and my legs automatically wrapped around his waist. I let out a moan that he promptly swallowed. His tongue darted between my open lips and touched mine with purpose and intent. His hands landed on the small swell of my ass and tugged until there was no space left between his hips and mine. My thighs clenched around his waist and I involuntarily ground myself against that rigid length trapped behind his jeans. He felt unbelievably good, even though the fit wasn’t exactly right. If I wasn’t careful, if he didn’t watch himself, he really could hurt me . . . in all kinds of ways.

He had to bend and I had to lift. I had to hold on and he had to hold me. It meant a lot of grabbing hands to go along with the twisting tongues, but it was hot, and I definitely wasn’t complaining about any of it.

One of his hands skated over my hip and found the hem of my borrowed t-shirt. The width of his palm covered my ribcage and the edge of his thumb brushed along the underside of my breast. My already hard nipple tightened even more, and I tried to pull him closer even though there was no space separating us. I wiggled myself against his straining erection and felt my eyes flutter closed at the hard pressure straining against the soft place at the apex of my thighs, warm and wet. It usually took more than a little foreplay to get me going. I usually needed the time to get out of my head and to lock away old memories, oftentimes nightmares.

Not with Stark.

All it took with him was a little pressure, a barely there caress, and I was ready to jump out of my skin. I wanted to pull his shirt off and sink my teeth into those tattoos winding around his torso. I wanted to pop the button on his jeans and sink to the floor in front of him, so I could face that beast I was rocking against. I wanted him to cover me, to block out anything but him, and lose us both in the storm he always seemed caught in. I wanted his hands all over me and inside of me. I wanted to give him a real reason to be distracted, so distracted he was thinking of me long after I walked away from him. Long after this seemingly impossible quest for revenge ended.

I choked out his name as his thumb found my aching nipple and slowly started to circle it. His touch was a little tough, slightly uneven, but I liked it. I liked that he didn’t have all the answers to all the things, and I smiled because I realized I might just know a little bit more about something than he did. Even if the something I knew more about was as carnal and as basic as sex. I arched my back and thrust my throbbing peak more firmly into his hand and groaned when he shifted from stroking to lightly tugging on the tender tip. I could feel a tremor working its way from my core outward and I gasped as hot pleasure tripped along every nerve ending.

We were still fully clothed, had barely rounded second base, and I was as close to coming as I would be if he had his mouth between my legs. The thought evoked images of his surprisingly rough hand and unsmiling mouth doing decadent things to me. It made me shiver and dig my fingernails into the tendons on the back of his neck hard enough to make him growl.

The sound vibrated against my parted lips and I sank my teeth into the bottom curve of his. His glasses were slightly askew and it was adorable. I wanted to rip them off his face and demand that he fuck me. Dry humping was nice and all, but I wanted my hands all over what he was working with. I felt like a kid at Christmas who knew she was getting exactly what she asked for from Santa. I needed the wrapping paper out of the way so I could play with what was inside.

The hand he had on my ass tightened as I thrust my hips against his hard cock. His heat scaled and the pressure against all my most sensitive parts felt really, really good. In fact, if I slid a hand down the front of the baggy sweatpants I was wearing and touched myself, just barely, it would be enough to send me over the edge.

But it wasn’t my fingers I wanted. It was his.

“I need you to touch me, Snow.” The words escaped choppy and breathless, pleading and insistent. I had had hands all over me the last few days that I didn’t want and didn’t ask for. I’d been touched when it was the last thing I wanted. I’d been hurt and manhandled. I needed his hands. The ones I’d asked for, the ones I was ready to beg for, the ones I put myself willingly into to remind myself this was up to me . . . he only got what I was willing to give. I didn’t want to think about how much that was. The man was tempting and dangerous. If I wasn’t careful, I would hand over my heart without a fight. Even though he’d never given any indication he wanted it.

He lifted his head from where he was tracing the sensitive shell of my ear with his tongue and looked at me through hooded eyes. “I am touching you.” He gave the nipple trapped between his fingers a hard tug that I felt all the way through my body, and his fingers dug deeper into my ass.

For a smart man, he could be incredibly dense. I put my hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing against my fingertips, and buried my heels in his backside. “No. I need you to touch me.”

He stilled and stared at me for a long second. He watched as I waited. Our breaths were the only sound competing with the pounding of my heart in the quiet apartment. I was giving him more than he asked for and I felt like I was balancing on the edge of something huge and scary, waiting to see if he was going to join me.

He blinked behind the lenses and then an animalistic, possessive, raw sound was ripped out of the center of his broad chest. There was nothing robotic or practiced about it. He was nothing more than a man who had his hands on a woman, who wanted him so much she couldn’t think straight. He was just as human and as hungry as the rest of us. He was better at hiding it, but not from me.

The hand that was holding onto my ass slipped over my hip and brushed over my lower stomach. His fingers were long and strong, the tips rough against my skin. He paused to trace the bruises that were left from my ordeal at the hands of Goddard’s goons, and I could see the anger that chased the passion in his eyes. In order to keep him on track, I attacked the side of his neck with my teeth and worked my hand under the hem of his t-shirt so I could trace the corrugated lines of his tight abs with my fingers. The guy was a monster and I loved everything about being pinned and held against all that strength. It was straight up fantasy material, even if he wasn’t anyone’s idea of a dream guy.

His fingers disappeared into the top of my sweatpants and both of us stilled when he realized I wasn’t wearing any underwear. That wasn’t something Booker had on hand for me to borrow and I hadn’t gotten around to seeing what the woman who used the apartment as a safe house before me left behind. I moved a hand to circle his thick wrist and opened my mouth to let out a silent sound when the tip of his middle finger slid down through the dampness that was already collected and made my inner thighs wet.

His nostrils flared and his jaw ticked furiously as my body pulsed around him.

“Hot.” The word seemed like it was wrenched out of him.

“Yes.” Mine was barely audible and strangled.

His tricky digit slid farther down, tracing sweet folds and slipping through liquid pleasure.

“So wet.” Obviously.

I choked out a laugh. “Are you surprised?” How could he be? I was wrapped around him, practically melting into him.

My eyes snapped shut as his middle finger found entrance at the exact same time his thumb rolled across my clit. I groaned and tightened my hold on his wrist and I rubbed myself against his touch like a cat.