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WICKEDLY WANTON -- Cris Anson

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"White Knight" in WICKEDLY WANTON -- Out Now

When Jake finds a damsel lying wet and injured right in his path, his Dominant nature requires he come to her aid. As he helps Terri heal —and her bratty nature rises to defend herself against her own burgeoning desires—this white knight realizes he has found a kindred spirit who just may be the submissive he’s been looking for.

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He took the three steps to stand before her and gently cupped her cheeks between his warm hands. “Terri. Humor me. You called me a white knight. I’m just living up to my title. Come.” He pulled out her stool. “Sit down. Please.”

Breathless, she did. He’d been so close, she was sure he’d been aiming to kiss her. And she’d have let him. There was something…compelling…about him.

“Let me just check you out again.” Bending down, he ran questing fingers through her hair, searching, she imagined, for bumps or sore spots. Her lashes fluttered downward. He grazed her sore temple, her cheek, with a knuckle. “Anything hurt when I press on it?”

She shook her head, no.

“Did you use the frozen peas at all for the swelling?”

“Um, no.”

In a deceptively soft voice he said, “I guess I’ll have to punish you for that.”

A delicious shiver zapped down her spine. Was he a…

She gave herself a mental shake. Now wasn’t the time to think about any kinks he might be harboring. “How? By making me watch you eat all the lasagna?”

“You know what I do with a smart mouth like that?”

She was looking at his mouth, inches from hers, plump and moist with just a suggestion of a smile. Kiss me, she wanted to say.

Both of his hands were delving into her hair, almost dry now and rediscovering its normal wavy pattern. Was he still looking for bumps or bruises? Or preparing her for something else?

Her heart stuttered. His actions made her yearn for what she’d been missing for too many years—the pull of her man’s fist on her hair, the sound of his palm smacking her bare ass.
Get your mind back into the present!

He held her captive for so long that she dared look into his eyes. What she saw there banished any pain from her fall and sent electricity zinging to every inch of her body. She could smell her sharp arousal beneath the sweatpants and wondered what he’d think if he knew she couldn’t find clean panties in the laundry room so was going commando. Her breasts tingled; she was glad her sweatshirt was thick enough to disguise how painfully hard her nipples were.

The timer chirped, breaking the spell. She knew it would beep every ten seconds until it was silenced. To cover her nervousness about what almost happened, she blurted out, “Saved by the bell.”

He took a step back. “Not saved. Just postponed.”