“You’re nervous,” Garrett says, tilting his head, his voice almost curious.
She lets out a laugh that is way too high-pitched to be cool. “Of course I’m nervous. You’re—you. Don’t be smug just because your face looks like that.”
He steps closer, and she instinctively shuffles back, craning her neck to keep him in view.
Her spine bumps against cold metal.
When did the elevator wall get so close?
He doesn’t touch her. Not yet. He just looms—all heat and impossible height. Naomi’s rooted to the spot, like gravity has its own rules around him. When his eyes drop to her mouth, she forgets how to blink.
“You talk a lot when you’re nervous,” he says.
“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have the whole sexy-silent thing down.”
His hand lifts and brushes a strand oh hair off her cheek.
“I know how to shut you up,” he murmurs.
Then he leans down and kisses her.
It’s not soft. It’s not cautious. It’s full of want—hungry, deep, like he’s been holding back for weeks and the dam finally cracked. His mouth slants over hers, and she meets him head-on, armswinding around his neck without a second thought.
He groans into her mouth.
Her knees give the faintest tremble.
And when his tongue brushes hers, slow and filthy, all her deranged jokes and sarcastic quips pack their bags and flee.
The elevator jolts to a stop at her floor, and Garrett reluctantly breaks the kiss, both of them breathing hard. He gestures for her to go first, and Naomi grabs his hand tugging him down the hallway with single-minded urgency.
At her door, she fumbles in her purse for the keycard. He leans down, pressing his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. The low, satisfied sound he makes in the back of his throat vibrates straight through her. It pools heat low in her belly, and she instinctively tilts her head to give him more.
Yes, less of the silly talking. More of that.
When she finally gets the door open, they stumble inside together—and he’s on her immediately. Her back hits the wall with a soft thud, his body pinning her in place. One hand slides up to cradle her throat, firm but careful, while the other grips her waist.
He steps closer, pressing in until they’re flush—until her breasts burn under the heat of his chest. Every slight movement sends sparks racing across her skin, each brush of contact lighting her up.
Naomi fumbles for his coat, clutching the thick fabric before shoving it off his shoulders. Heat blooms beneath her skin as she strips off her own. Their mouths collide again, tongues tangling in a rhythm too hungry for thought. Hands move on instinct—Garrett peeling her sweater over her head, then tugging off his own in one smooth motion that steals her breath.
Her gaze drops the moment his hoodie hits the floor. His chest is all hard lines and ink, with a smattering of soft hair trailing down his stomach invitingly. Her eyes track the sleeve curling up his left arm, layered with shadowy images that twist into one another, climbing his shoulder and bleeding up to his neck. Not one piece, but many. He’s a living canvas, a work of art that moves.
Naomi’s mouth goes dry as her fingers trail along the ink etchedinto his bicep, following the sharp lines up to his shoulder, then higher—across the curve of his neck, where it disappears beneath his jaw. He catches her eye and smirks in a lazy, maddening way that tells her he knows exactly what filth she’s thinking.
Oh, screw him, she thinks. If he wants to play. She’ll play.
She reaches behind her back and unclasps her black lace bra, shrugging it off and letting her breasts spill into the cool air. Garrett stills, drinking her in, first staring at her flushed face then moving down. Naomi can feel his stare as if it were his touch, caressing her throat, the curve of her collarbone, then pausing at her full breasts, pink nipples peaked with arousal, covered by the waves of her auburn hair.
When his eyes return to Naomi’s, he looks like a man undone.
“Like what you see?” she asks, her voice a husky version she’s never heard before.
“Very, very much,” he replies, dragging one large hand from her throat then lower, knuckles grazing the swell of one breast as he brushes her hair back. His other hand joins in the exploration, and he groans a deep, greedy sound at the back of his throat.
Dropping to his knees, he samples one breast with his tongue, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth, then nibbling on it gently. Naomi threads her fingers through the soft waves of his hair, tugging and clutching fistfuls as Garrett worships her. The last vestiges of her self-control keep her from making a sound save for a few whimpering moans, but she’s close to losing her ability to use her indoor voice.
He licks his way up her collarbone, neck and stands, pressing his hips to her stomach so she can feel his hardness straining against his jeans.
