I spend all of them replaying our greatest sex hits over and over in my mind.
By the time he rests his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward the elevator in his building’s pristine parking garage, my panties are in quite a state.
A state I know would make him very, veryhappy if he knew…
Inside his apartment, I’m surprised by the mixture of sleek and old-world mixing in his large main room. The flow of the simply furnished living room into the open kitchen is textbook contemporary luxury, but the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the main wall is an early twentieth-century Art Nouveau throwback of gorgeous walnut arranged with the love of a true bibliophile.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, dropping his tux jacket on the back of the couch as he motions toward the accent wall opposite the shelves.
I spin, considering the swaths of paint in the dim glow of the recessed lighting that turned on automatically as we entered the space.
“The woman at the store said anything but gray is going to wreck my potential resale value,” he adds, “but I’m digging the pale sage. The melon honestly isn’t bad, either, though probably a little feminine for a man who lives alone.”
I turn back to him, not at all surprised to find his murder collar undone and him much closer than he was a moment before. “The gray is soulless and safe. The sage and melon are both perfect in different ways. You shouldn’t doubt your instincts.”
He arches a challenging brow. “No?”
Cursing myself for walking into yet another trap, I shoot back. “Don’t.”
His lips twitch. “Don’t what?”
“You know what,” I murmur, but when he moves in close, so close his body heat wraps around me and his delicious Nix smell floods my head, I don’t even think about stepping back.
“I don’t know much right now,” he says, the husky note in his voice enough to make my nipples tight. “Except that I would give up every collector’s edition on that shelf to kiss you right now.”
I pull in a shaky breath, my entire body tingling.
Because I know how much he loves books.
And I know he means it.
And I know there’s no way I’m leaving here without begging him to fuck me on that library ladder in the corner.
I honestly can’t say who moves first, but suddenly we flow together like halves of a river kept apart too long as a dam comes crashing down.
Our lips collide—hot and hungry—and I fist his dress shirt in both hands, clutching hard enough to make my knuckles ache. This isn’t polite or careful or anything that can be mistaken for “PR boyfriend kissing his PR girlfriend.”
This iseat the forbidden fruit and wreck me on your sexy library ladderenergy.
“We promised we wouldn’t,” I breathe.
“Just once more,” he growls back as he kisses me across the room.
I’m about to protest the fact that we’re moving away from the ladder when my bottom bumps up against the kitchen island. I feel the edge bite into me, sharp and perfect, and instantly decide the ladder can wait.
“Okay, just once,” I pant against his mouth, already reaching for the close of his pants. “Just to boost morale.”
“Fuck yes,” he agrees, teeth grazing my bottom lip. “Nothing boosts my morale like your pussy squeezing my cock in half.”
Breath rushing out with a ragged, hungry sound, I challenge, “Then why am I still standing, buddy?”
With a tight laugh, he palms the back of my thighs, hoisting me up onto the counter with an ease that makes my head spin. I’m not a big woman, but he makes me feel tiny, like I’m made of tissue paper and glitter, like some delicate party décor. But he also makes me feel so human. So animal. I don’t know that I’ve ever been this in touch with my own hunger as I am when I’m with him.
The world narrows to the heat of his mouth on mine. His tongue. His taste. His hands shoving my skirt up to my hips as he steps between my legs.
“Can’t go slow the first time. Want you too fucking much,” he says, his hips pressing forward until I can feel every hot, aching inch of him through our clothes.
Until I’m cursing myself for losing the battle against whatever hook-and-catch mechanism is keeping these tuxedo pants in place…
