Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

Chapter Thirteen
Hallie
It’s hard to hold his gaze when he touches me like this.
The frisson of pleasure that curls through me against my own will makes it so much worse.
I want to tap already. I want to ask him to stop, but I’m afraid if I don’t make some allowance he
can live with, he’ll disregard my consent altogether.
Fully dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored suit, Calvin is imposing. Somehow, kneeling on
his bed in the dark with his toned, muscular body completely bare makes him look even more
powerful.
I haven’t encountered that before. I remember the first time I saw Jackson in a suit—my own
personal catnip—how attractive I found him. Then I remember the end of our fifth date when we went
back to his place. I remember feeling a bit letdown—not that I would ever express that to him, of
course—when he hopped across the floor toward the bed, tangled up in the leg of his pants. I
remember he looked pale and scrawny and awkwardly hairy. I didn’t expect him to look like an
athlete or anything, but as much as he bragged about the time he spent in the gym and how he did
rowing in college, I guess I expected something… different.
I remember how impatient he seemed before he even got naked. The clumsy way he grabbed at
my clothing to remove it, the brief, sloppy kiss I got before he hauled me to the bed.
It makes me wish I’d been awake when Calvin undressed me. He didn’t let me experience it for
myself, but instinctively, I envision him as a firm, decisive undresser. I picture him patient, too,
knowing how to draw out anticipation and knowing the journey is half the fun. If I close my eyes, I can
imagine his sure grip as he gently tugs down the zipper on the back of the dress. I envision him
gripping my shoulders to keep me exactly where he wants me, then tugging the expensive dress down
and letting it pool on the floor at my feet.
My body feels more alive than it usually does. I keep my eyes closed, keep myself immersed in
my imaginary world with a Calvin who is maybe a little charming, maybe someone I spend time with
because I want to and not because I’m forced to.
The panic subsides as I reassure myself with the pretty lies in my imagination. It feels a little
twisted to trick myself that way, and especially to use him in the fantasy, but I needed to do something
to keep my chest from caving in. I needed to buy myself at least a little time before I asked him to
stop.
I don’t want to stop now. Not yet. Without the panic clawing at my chest, I can focus on how nice
it feels as he strokes my clit. Pleasure starts at my core and spreads outward.
The pure, uncomplicated feeling of receiving pleasure can’t last long, though. The guilt catches