Pistol

Chapter Five

"Ya keep lookin' at me like that, and I'll have nothin' to look forward to when I bury me head between those fuckin' long legs of yours."

Steph snapped her jaw shut, but kept her gaze pinned on the incredible artwork that covered his torso. Pop art, text, and abstract images filled every inch of skin. And he wore it so well. The pictures twisted and morphed as he stepped toward her. She sighed at the weight of his hands on her hips, and settled her head against his chest. His heart thundered a tempo in her ear that matched her own. The boy was as aroused as she was. Had to be anyway, because he sure as shit didn't come off as the type to be scared.

His hands slipped about the circumference of her waist, until his fingers connected with her zipper. He eased it down and pushed the fabric of her skirt over her hips. Pete shuddered a sigh as his eyes ran the length of her; he even stepped back for a better vantage. Blood pounded in her ears, her nerves haywire at the thought he would soon strip her bare. He licked his bottom lip, and made the ring flick from side-to-side, as he encircled her in his arms once more.

"Undo the buttons," he ordered, husky, and low.

Steph drew her hands between them both; her nipples peaked at the feel of her palms brushing against his torso. Her shaky fingers made clumsy work of the buttons, but she managed—even under the intense scrutiny of his hooded gaze. His breaths were heavy, and controlled as she let the two sides of the blouse fall apart to reveal her lace-encased breasts. He bit the lip piercing into his mouth, and traced a lazy line along one cup with his finger, then the other.

Steph moved her hands to his chest, and placed a palm over each pec. She then drew a long, level breath. Her heart raced the million dollar minute at the feel of him beneath her hands; a moment which had been a mere fantasy since she first laid eyes on his him last night. Yeah, last night. Have you lost the plot? She should push him away, demand he leave, but the child inside of her slammed its foot down in a tantrum. No, she wouldn't give up her toy yet.

He drew both hands up the column of her neck, and stopped to cup her face in his firm grasp. Without warning, he stuck both thumbs into the corners of her mouth, and tightened his grip on her jaw. Steph moaned at the strange combination of pain, and ownership he displayed. Her tongue darted between his thumbs to feel the grasp he had inside her mouth.

"You—" he ground out through strained tones, "—make me do stupid things."

Did he tell her off? Or warn her? She dropped her gaze to his mouth, and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. His thumbs slipped free of her mouth, as he simultaneously pulled her head up so that she stood on tip-toe to meet his assault. Their lips clashed, his tongue pushed past the seam of her mouth to explore the areas his thumbs had pressed into seconds before.

All the wine she had consumed over the course of the evening came back to bite her in the ass as her head swum. Steph clung onto his shoulders for balance, and he snaked an arm around her lower back to pull her closer. "You okay, Love?"

She steadied her breaths enough to form a singular word. "Dizzy."

Pete stepped back from her, and pointed to the bed—his hand still cupped her elbow for balance. "Lie down and take yer knickers off, woman."

She didn't question him. She did as she was told.

Steph lay bare from the waist down; her blouse and bra barely covered her upper half. He stood at the foot of the bed, hungry as a wolf by the way he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned. If it weren't for the fact he had her half-naked, and in the bedroom, she could have sworn he thought of a way to kill her. It was that kind of look.