I go.
Because something in me wants to.
The hotel door clicks shut, submerging us in quiet darkness. I take a step toward him, and he’s already there, crowding into my space like he can’t stand the distance. One hand braces beside my head while the other curves around my hip, hot and firm as he cages me against the cool wall.
“You don’t talk much,” I murmur, lifting a brow.
His mouth twitches as if he wants to dispute my claim. “Not unless it matters.”
“And this matters?”
“It will.” His response is cocky… and hot.
I’ll be disappointed if this isn’t one of those one-night stands I want to repeat.
“What’s your name?” I ask, fingers toying with the edge of his shirt.
“Kieran.”
I roll it over in my head, tasting it softly. “I like it.”
He leans in close, lips at my ear. “Then say it when I’m inside you.”
That is my magic phrase tonight, turning me into a feral monster I have no control over.
I drag my tongue along the seam of his mouth just to feel him respond.
And he does.
God, does he.
Kieran groans into my mouth and nips at my bottom lip before deepening the kiss. He grabs the backs of my thighs and lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around him as if I’ve been in his arms before.
We stumble toward the bed, undressing each other between kisses. His shirt hits the floor, and I greedily run my hands over the ridges of his abs. My dress drops next, carelessly pooled by his feet. His fingers unhook my bra while I toss his belt across the room.
By the time my back hits the mattress, Kieran is all heat but still half-dressed. His hands are on my skin as if he’s starving for touch. Like he’s waited a lifetime and just got the green light.
“God,” he breathes as he peels off the last layer, gaze raking over me. “You’re unreal.”
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” I say, voice rough with need.
Kieran smirks at me as his jeans and boxers join the trail of clothes we left behind. And that smirk stays firmly in place, hungry gaze fixed on mine, as he hooks his index fingers into the waist of my lace thong, easing it down my legs.
He moves over me, pinning me to the bed, his hands on my wrists as he settles between my thighs. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, the intensity of his perusal enough to have me dripping with excitement.
“Do you always study your hookups like they’re a specimen pinned to a board?” I drawl, stretching lazily beneath him. “Or should I consider myself lucky?”
“Only when I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.”
His mouth crashes into mine before I can think of a response. There’s no fumbling. No awkwardness. Just blazing fire. He kisses me like it’s a lost language, and every drag of his tongue is a confession, my body an altar he already knows how to worship.
His hands find every place I ache for touch.
His mouth is worse.
Better.
Deadly.
