“Thirteen minutes door to door,” the liftie replied automatically, extending a wool wrap. “Blanket for the ride down?”
“We’ll pass.” Tor shook his head.
“Hah!” The guy’s broad shoulders shook in laugher. “That’s usually a locals-only secret. Never accept a gondola blanket.”
They stepped inside and Tor turned as the doors shut. “Don’t worry, I’m planning on keeping you warm for the ride down.”
She grabbed his tie. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Moaning, she opened her mouth, allowing him to sweep his tongue inside, tasting peppermint from the hard candy she’d popped on her way out the door, Merlot and a flavor that could only be described asNeve.
In other words, heaven.
He brushed her cheek, then slid his fingers along her jaw and down her neck in a possessive caress. “I want to fuck you.”
“What a coincidence, I was going to say the exact same thing.” Her grin turned naughty. “But we don’t have long.”
“With you, that’s never a problem.”
“Let me guess. You have a thing for women in formal wear and tennis shoes.”
“Get over here, Angel.” He sat on the bench and pulled her on top. Sliding both hands up over her muscular inner thighs, he bunched her dress up around her hips. Fucking Christ. She was wearing see-through black panties connected by two flimsy pieces of string. It would take nothing but a flick of the wrist to have her bare, but if they were going for a quick-and-dirty fuck, he’d go all the way.
“Slide those to the side and spread yourself for me.”
Her hand shook but she did as he commanded. Wind from the snowstorm rocked the gondola, setting the tempo for the slow rock of her hips.
“You’re wet.”
“It seems to be a side effect of the trip.”
“Slide your fingers inside. I want you drenched.”
“Not going to be a problem.”
He tore his cock from his suit pants, the thick tip gleaming. She inched forward and he shook his head. “Not yet. Work your clit.”
“I don’t want to come first,” she whimpered.
“You’re not going to come until I say so.”
Her head rocked forward. “Always so bossy.”
“And you always fucking love it.”
Her moan was one of assent.
He pumped his cock and gazed at her, eye to eye, the head mere inches from her heat. His erection pressed into the soft curls where her thighs joined her pelvis. The slow tickle on his sensitive cock heated his sac. His stomach muscles flexed.
“Now.” He grabbed his shaft at the root and angled it up. “On me.”
She braced one of her hands on his shoulder, easing herself down, slowing his thick length to stretch her slowly, drive her open, allow him to go deeper, and deeper, and—fuck—even deeper still.
When she was full of him, he grabbed the hand that had worked her pussy by the wrist, sucked her fingers in, lapping all her flavor. Her heat contracted around him on instinct.
“You fill me so good.” Her moan was a delighted agony.
“Love it.” His chest filled with rasping breaths. Fuck, he almost said the words.Thewords. It had to be the sex talking. No way could he say he loved her. It was the weekend talking. That and breaking the seal on his seven-year dry spell. The fact he liked her. That for as long as he had known her, he had liked her even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Shit. For years he’d noticed her every time she walked into a room? He’d thought about her whenever she wasn’t there?
