15
“Maybe I need to take the edge off you.”
His husky words were Kat’s only warning before he jerked her legs apart. He held onto the back of her neck with one hand, while his other slid up her inner thigh, pushing her dress up to her hips. Then he cupped her mound, the heat of his palm against her throbbing clit making her jerk and gasp.
“You like that?” Tristan rubbed her clit through her panties, swirling a fingertip over the nub. It was almost too sensitive.
Kat’s hands slipped beneath his shirt. She raked her nails down his back at the same moment he dipped a finger past her panties and stroked her opening.
God, his voice, he could say anything with that accent—like a dirty-talking Knight of the Round Table or something—and she’d explode. A desperate moan escaped her. How had she
