“Oh, fuck,” when his tongue flicks fast against my clit, I lose control of my brain, my mouth. “Fuck, that’s good. Don’t stop.”
He says something, too muffled for me to understand. His arms tighten around my thighs and his body shifts and it feels like excitement. Pure and almost noble, somehow.
Noble?Noble?Up here, with my bare ass pressed to cold metal?
Whatever. I’m closer to coming than I’ve ever been like this—just from a man’s tongue and teeth and lips—and I’m not sure the synapses in my brain are snapping the right way. Or connecting. Or…
A moan escapes me, filling the elevator, which is ripe with the smell of sex and metal and scotch, the rumbling of him growling like a beast at the kill. I wind a hand in his hair and tug, hard, and with a snarl, he picks up his pace, pulls me tighter to him, and…
“Holy fucking shit.” I curl in on myself, one fist bangs the wall, the other holds his face to me. I shut my eyes tight. And fly.
For a second, the only thing I’m aware of is that hollow metal banging. It’s shaking my whole body. Rumbling.
I’ve never climaxed like this. It’s destabilizing. I’m flying and yet, totally in my body, over-sensitive.
I try to close my legs, but he’s still there and I’m too limp to push hard, but then the wall behind me’s still moving and there’s a warm glow all around us, orange through my closed eyelids.
Uh oh.
Oh, crap.
When I pry my eyes open, they hurt. I shut them against the light.
“Colin.” I struggle to climb off him, but he only digs his hands in deeper, heaves me higher on his shoulders and, I’ll admit, for a handful of seconds, as I open my eyes to stare down at the top of his dark head, that wide back, those hands, so firm in their control, that I’m tempted to let him keep going. What would be the harm of a second orgasm, right?
But the elevator’s not a private place anymore and I can’t stare at his windblown hair and the rest of him without also seeing my own pale thighs, spreadeagled around him, and picturing the vision that would greet whoever called the damn thing.
“Colin. We’re moving.” I don’t sound nearly as frenzied as I feel.
He doubles down. I struggle harder. Finally, with an annoyed huff, he tilts his head back and, despite how frantic I am to get off him and throw my shorts on, I’ll never forget the way he looks in this moment. Hair tousled, blue eyes hazy, the entire bottom half of his face glistening from what he’s just done and his mouth is this ripe, sinful thing. All plump and rosy, almost bruised.
Also, he’s a stranger. Not the intimate voice I’ve spent the last couple hours with, or the warm arms or the frenetic touch.
But, hell, we’ve got to move or we’ll be caught like this.
After another blank second, he gets it, thank God. He’s all business. He drops me. Stands, my pink shorts miniscule in his hand. Moves to the call buttons, shoves the garment my way. I’m too busy fighting my way into them to look at what he’s up to, so when the elevator comes to an abrupt halt, it takes me a moment to realize that he’s holding the doors closed.
I look around, wildly. “What…what floor are we on? Does the door work?”
“Nobody’s getting in.” I meet his gaze, jarred yet again by this feeling that I don’t know him at all. He’s not the same. He’s a stranger. And also, good lord is he beautiful. “You ready?”
I stand here, confused, lost, caught between our made-up world and this one. No. No, I’m not ready. The second we walk out that door, it’s over. I don’t want it to end. Shut the light off, lock the door, give me just one more minute in the dark, cocooned safety of his arms.
“Ready.”
“Let’s go.” With a grin, he turns, slides the doors wide, throws open the outer one, and then stops abruptly. “What the—”
I bump into him with an audibleoof.
“Hello you creepy little fucker.”
I follow his gaze down and realize with a jolt that he’s staring at Madame Christen’s brown and white terrier. It’s staring up at us, ears at half mast, head tilted at a curious angle. Its eyes are two black beads reflecting the elevator’s yellow light.
“What floor are we on?” I whisper, shrinking back under the dog’s steady stare.
“Second,” he replies under his breath.
“Did you push the button for this floor?”
