I slip my hands under the waistband of his athletic shorts and squeeze the firm globes of his ass, raking my nails over the taut flesh.
He pulls back, abruptly breaking off the kiss.
Oh, no. Did I go too far? Hurt him?
Disappointment and worry pierce my chest, but then his mouth is on me again.
He trails open-mouthed kisses down my throat, licking and sucking and nipping at my skin. Each touch, each brush of his lips, sends my desire spiraling higher.
“More,” I plead, pride taking a back seat to the growing ache between my legs. “I need more.”
He nudges my thighs apart with his knee. “I had this grand plan that included exploring every inch of your body with my mouth, but I suppose it can wait.”
A shiver races up my spine at the prospect, but there’s no time to dwell on it, because he’s tugging on the hem of my T-shirt, slipping it over my head.
I arch and wiggle out of the soft cotton, desperate for skin-to-skin contact.
Miles tosses the shirt onto the floor, and then he’s looking at me, his hooded gaze raking over my bare flesh.
“I’d tell you to take a picture,” I say, throwing his own taunt back at him, “but…”
“Trust me,” he rasps, splaying his left hand over my abdomen. “I don’t need a picture to remember this.”
There’s an intensity in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, that tells me he means every word.
I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, but it’s not a plain, dutiful assistant.
Not anymore.
This man can have any woman he wants, and tonight he’s chosen me.
Me.
Something inside my chest breaks loose at the realization, and a tidal wave of desire crashes over me, washing away any semblance of modesty.
“Touch me, Miles.”
Slowly—so slowly—he drags his hand lower, pausing when his fingertips reach the top of my lace panties.
“Like this?”
He’s playing with me. I know it. But I can’t bring myself to care, because it’s the best kind of torture.
“Lower.”
His grin widens, and he flips his hand over, cupping my pussy and dragging his middle finger right up my center.
A needy sound erupts from my lips, and though it’s unintelligible, Miles understands.
He strokes me again. “Is this what you need, Lucy?”
I nod, every muscle in my body clenched tight.
I’ve waited so long for this moment. To feel his hands on me. It’s— There are no words.
“Or maybe,” he says, sliding my panties down and positioning himself between my thighs, “this is what you need.”
I watch, unable to think, unable to breathe as he lowers his mouth and licks me, long and leisurely, before circling my clit with his tongue.
