Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) by Donna Alam

brushes the moisture away, I almost levitate closer.
    ‘Though, if I remember rightly,’ he murmurs, pinning me with his dark, dilated gaze, ‘all I really wanted to do was place my teeth here .’
    His free hand glides past the side of my breast without really touching, nipples tightening instinctively. He cups my behind, pulling me in and my body rocks into him, desperate to feel the length of him against me, the drag of his lips.
    ‘You’re so very pretty,’ he whispers, pressing his mouth against mine in invitation. I take it, leaning into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His lips are soft and unfamiliar and amazing as he opens wider, deepening the kiss, the taste of wine registering on my tongue. Both touch and taste are so unravelling, I tighten my arms, almost curling into him.
    Small, exploratory kisses become deeper and wetter. I moan into his mouth. Everything becomes frantic for a moment—teeth and lips dragging until he moves me backwards, resting me against a high-backed sofa. My breathing is ragged as he runs his hands down my arms, pressing his body against mine once more.
    ‘Let’s slow down.’ His words are whispered into the skin of my neck, their echo and following tongue starting fires everywhere—intimate places, suddenly burning with need. How about getting me there faster instead, the need screams
    But then his mouth moves over my neck, alternating between kisses, flicking tongue and grazing teeth. I curl my hands against the sofa edge, holding onto the moment, pursing my lips to silence a trembling moan as his mouth finds mine again. He kisses my bottom lip, taking it into his own and holding it.
    If the frontal cortex is responsible for decision making, maybe my bottom lip is its cut off switch. I can’t process what he’s doing or how silly this might look as he bites, gently at first, testing my reactions, increasing the pressure with synchronicity to my sighs. The pressure resonates lower—I’m turned on and shocked, my breath now a small, quivering thing. As he releases my lip, the blood rushes back into the flesh with a subtle sting. I don’t have a chance to reflect on his action— my reactions—as his full, flat tongue then licks it.
    ‘So fucking pretty,’ he growls.
    It’s almost as though the growl resonates between my legs.
    One hand comes to rest beneath my dress, fingers resting just above my knee. He watches my face with an expression so serious, almost as though waiting for interruption, trailing them upwards to the triangle of fabric between my thighs. I offer no objections as his finger brushes lightly, pressing a damp crease in the fabric. Closing my eyes, my body begins to tremble as his finger moves slow and rhythmically.
    ‘Relax,’ he whispers, moving to loosen the buttons of my dress. His fingers work quickly from bottom to top until it hangs open, his hands spanning my waist. I stand half exposed, dress hanging open at my sides, thinking I could melt under his gaze, be reduced to a puddle of need at his feet. With a devilish smile, he slides the dress from my shoulders where it pools, forgotten, on the floor. ‘I knew you weren’t so conservative.’
    Blinking heavily, I glance down at my underwear: my black lace push up bra and undies are sheer and almost transparent. I send a silent thanks to the knicker-drawer fairy for ensuring decent, if not matching, underwear were at the top of the pile this morning. Because, really, it could’ve been much worse. Never mind about clean knickers in the case of an accident. I’ll never wear old nana knickers again.
    ‘Little secret for you,’ he whispers. ‘Your shoes were your tell.’ His mouth curls between small, nipping kisses, his hands still circling my waist. ‘They scream sex.’
    I thought they screamed short, but that works for me. I’m hardly covered, barely touched, and absolutely on edge, but the fact that he’s mentioned shoes again, doesn’t go unnoticed.
    Pulling back, his mouth is