Felicity glanced up at him, her fingers curling around his length, and he sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth. She reveled in the clench of his jaw, the way his blue eyes went indigo-black, as he slowly lost the internal battle he was fighting.
Give yourself over to pleasure. To us.
“I want a night with you, Ash. Implications be damned. No talking. Just touching. Just feeling.”
She meant it. Even if there was no future—a thought that sent panic banding around lungs—she needed a night with him. Nothing was worth risking one night with the man she had so utterly and improbably fallen for.
She was taking this moment.
For herself.
Forthem.
He thickened in her hand with each stroke, his uneven breaths spilling past a mouth gone soft with pleasure.
“Felicity,” he groaned, low and tortured.
“Mmmm,” she hummed, mesmerized by the feel of him, soft velvet over steel.
“Fuck, you have to stop looking at me like that.”
She let her eyes trace over the planes of his jaw, the muscle ticking just below his ear, the clench and release. Her gaze flicked up to meet his, heavy-lidded and glazed midnight. Drunk on her.
“I wish I knew how, Ash.”
His eyes slid shut, and his features tightened, pained by her words.
“Do you want it harder?” she whispered, her own breath coming rougher. “Faster?” She didn’t quite understand why, but with every pull, a pulse built deep in her core—like between her thighs was jealous of her hand.
“You’re going to kill me, Felicity.”
His words were hoarse, as if her fist were around his throat and not his cock. But he nodded. She squeezed harder, stroked faster, and his head fell back, his chest rising and falling quick and harsh. Pleasure curled inside her, deep within her core, tighter and tighter with each pass. Her gaze darted to her bed. No more delaying. She needed this man now.
His hand shot to her wrist, and she stilled.
“This is going to be over before it even begins if you keep that up. Why don’t we slow things down? Let me touch you, worship you like you deserve.”
And that had been her plan. It really had. She’d had every intention of bringing him into her room and slowly savoring every inch of his skin. And hopefully him doing the same to her. She wanted to show him how deeply she felt for him. That this was more than seduction. More than lust. More than a temporary moment.
Forever.
The word whispered through her mind, heart-stopping and hopeful and holding the power to break her. But the way his face had lit up when she’d declared her admiration of his body had changed everything. Slowwas really, very, extremely unappealing right now.
He had never known what it was to be wanted, to be desired, had suffered in a lonely, empty marriage. Well, she was bloody hungry for him, for the feel of his fingers on her skin, hers on his. He’d have no reservations once she was finished with him.
She was going to eat him alive.
She stepped up against him, his cock pressing into her belly, her lips brushing against his. “While that sounds lovely, Ash…” She grazed her teeth over his bottom lip, not quite giving it a tug, and her eyes rolled back as the faint flavor of whisky and man hit her senses. “I don’t want slow and soft. I have ached for you foryears.”
And to punctuate her point, she brought his hand to her breast. Her eyes slid shut at the contact of his large, warm hand against her sensitive skin. His fingers curled, cupping her, and he immediately teased her nipple with his thumb. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes shot wide when pleasure arced to her core.So that was what Maribeth meant when she spoke about how glorious nipples could be.
“Yes, most definitely not slow. I would like the hard and fast option, please.” She punctuated her words with an emphatic nod.
“Fuuck,” he said on a groan.
“Yes, precisely. A hard and fast fuck.”
He buried his head in her hair as his chest shook with breathy chuckles. “You are surprising me at every turn, Felicity.”
