Live for me, Ever.
“Always,” I whisper back, blinking away the tears.
Thick fingers weave in my hair and tug my head back. A solid body presses against mine. My bad boy. My secret lover. My sadness fades, replaced with joy and anticipation.
My secret lover’s shirt is soft on my exposed shoulders and arms, and his belt buckle is cool on my heated skin above my waistband, where my bandeau and jeans don’t meet. He keeps me from falling backward with his other arm across my lower back. He is strong and protective. I won’t have to worry about my safety when I’m with him.
Warm lips settle on my forehead and skim down my temple. Not only is my bad boy strong and protective, but he is a gentleman. My heart melts with his tenderness.
He moves his mouth lower, and I hum low in the back of my throat, liking too much the delicious pressure of his nose dragging down the column of my neck as he takes in my scent while his warm mouth tastes my heated, sweat-slicked skin.
Eyes closed, I dip my head and murmur into his hair, “Your mouth on my skin feels so good.”
Large hands palm my hips and bring my lower half against his. He is solid. Thick muscular thighs. Tall. Strong.
He tightens his hold on my hips, but his fingers are gentle, kneading my flesh through my jeans. I need to be closer. I want to be plastered to him and feel every hard line, bulge, and curve of his sexy body. Desperate to feel again, I wrap my arms around his neck, stand on the tips of my shoes, and press my pelvis against his. The heat from his groin seeps through our clothes and slicks my panties.
I play with the hair at his nape and moan with pleasure as my palms skim down his neck to rest on the strength of his shoulders. I go low, lower, until my fingers brush past his shirt and caress his fingers.
We are palm to palm, fingers to fingertips, and the contact is sensual beyond belief, the nerves in my fingertips raw with need. The touches and caresses are simple, but Bobby is far from being a simple man.
I long to explore his heat with my mouth. He would be sweaty and salty, given the amount of body heat he’s generating.
Feeling forward, I take his hands, bring them around to my backside, and guide them low. He gets the hint and cups my ass. The weight of his large palms on my butt, the pressure from his fingertips . . . I curve one arm around his neck, tuck the other under his, and bring our bodies together.
If we were naked, we would be skin on skin. Skin on skin. Oh, God, it’s been so long, and I can’t get enough of Bobby’s heat and scent—sweaty and undeniably masculine.
I bite down on my groan, cocoon his thick thigh between my legs, and grind my sex on his thigh through my jeans. His thigh is big and thick. I like big and thick. Love sweaty and undeniably masculine. My sex throbs. My mouth parts. My breasts grow heavy with lust.
I need relief. Need it in a bad way. I grind harder, lean in and press my mouth on the underside of his jaw. I suck on his skin through his coarse stubble and moan at how right I am. He is sweaty and salty.
He groans, and I feel his sound of desire from my chest to my sex.
“You like that, huh?” I graze my teeth along his neck. “I like tasting you. You taste so good.”
He groans again.
I keep my eyes closed and savor the taste and touch of him to my heart’s content. My hands land on his triceps, and I caress down the length of his arms and find my way to the front of his trousers. Warning bells sound in my head. I ignore them and skim my fingers over the outline of his need for me.
“You are a big, big guy,” I purr. “Will you take us to my car? Keep what is happening between us private? I’ll keep my eyes closed. Will never know your identity. I will tell you what I want. You comply. Oh, and not a peep.” I cup his face and murmur over his mouth. “Not one iota. Grunt, groan, moan, but don’t you dare say a word.”
His mouth curves against mine. I smile back.
“I’m glad you’re in for this fantasy of mine. To my car,” I whisper near his ear, pulling my key fob out of my pocket and tucking it in his palm.
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the crowded club. I expect us to be stopped at the door by security. I mean, come on, a guy leading a girl out the doors and her eyes are closed? But we’re in the clear. Cool air whispers over my flushed cheeks, and suddenly, his hand leaves mine, and I’m pushed against a wall.
Fingers glide over my lips. Permission to speak, that’s what I’m getting from the small but hot caress.
“Permission given.”
He leans in close and brackets his arms next to my head, the shirt sleeves brushing my hair. I wait. He doesn’t make a move. It’s intentional because the longer he makes me wait, the more soaked my panties get, the heavier my breasts become, and my breathing . . . I gasp for air.
“Please,” I rasp, so turned on I’m ready to kneel at his feet, dig my fingers into the flesh of his outer thighs through his slacks, and beg for him to use words, going against our earlier agreement.
He must know I’m at my wits’ end with desire. With heat in his voice and sex dripping from his words, he says next to my ear, “Do you trust me?”
I tremble with lust and fear, but more from the former than the latter, from my baby hair along my hairline to my toes. “I don’t like surprises, but yes, I trust you.”
