Like really,reallypathetic.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and those gray eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide.
"Emily…"
I should say something witty or sexy or at least coherent, but the last of my brain cells has withered and died. Instead, I surge forward and kiss him again.
This time, there's nothing careful about it. His hand tightens on my neck, his other gripping my hip hard enough I know I'll find fingerprints tomorrow—the thought makes me dizzy with want. My hands find the front of his shirt again, fingers fumbling with buttons. I need to touch him, need skin contact like I need air.
The scratch of his stubble burns against my face, and it feels exactly like I imagined when I wrote that stupid card—exactly right. His tongue slides against mine, and I whimper into his mouth, embarrassingly needy.
Alex responds by dragging me closer until I'm practically in his lap. My dress rides up, probably exposing my non-flattering parts, and I should care about that, but I absolutely don't. Not when his hand slides to my thigh, fingers tracing just under the hem of my lace underwear.Brand new, by the way. And a little too expensive for my typical underwear purchase…But, I digress, back to the plot…
"Come closer," he whispers against my mouth, shifting, pulling me fully onto his lap so I'm straddling him.
Oh. OH.
Dear God.
The new position puts me right against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, and my body reacts without my permission. My hips roll, seeking pressure, friction,anything.
The small movement pulls a groan from deep in his chest. "Fuck, Emily."
Huh. He's the groaning type, I guess.
His mouth finds the sensitive spot along my neck, and I tilt my head back to give him better access. My hands finally conquer the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open to reveal his chest—the tattoos I glimpsed through his thin running shirts and muscle tees, and spun into my fantasies, now right under my palms.
And yes, this man was created by the gods themselves. No, you cannot convince me otherwise.
I trace the patterns and swirls with trembling fingers, feeling the solid muscle beneath warm skin. His mouth travels lower to my collarbone, then to the swell of my breast just above the neckline of my dress.
My nipples tighten painfully against my bra, aching for his touch, and I arch into him.
"Alex, oh God?—"
His hands grip my thighs, and suddenly I'm weightless. He stands with me in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, locking at the ankles. The position presses us together more firmly, and we both make sounds that would be embarrassing in any other context.
Three steps to my bed—the perils and benefits of a studio apartment. He lays me down and follows me onto the mattress, his body covering mine. His weight feels like an anchor, grounding me when I might otherwise float away.
Alex's mouth finds mine again, and if anything, his kiss only turns rougher and hungrier. My hands explore his chest, his shoulders, pushing his shirt off completely. When my fingersfind the scar on his right forearm, he stiffens slightly, and I soften my touch, tracing the raised tissue.
Alex pulls back, his gaze locked on mine as his hand finds the zipper of my dress.
"This okay, Em?"
I nod so hard I'm pretty sure I look like a bobblehead. "Very okay. Extremely okay."
A flicker of amusement crosses his face before he drags the zipper down. I lift my hips to help him slide the dress off, and then I'm lying there in just my crimson red bra and underwear.
I honestly struggled to convince myself to buy expensive lingerie yesterday, since I (or hopefully Alex) would just take it off. But right now, as Alex pins me with a hot gaze that makes my core clench, I realize every dollar was definitely worth it.
But then…
Like a douse of ice-cold water over my head, reality crashes in.
I'm not model-thin.
I have soft places and curves that don't match magazine covers. My thighs are too thick, and I have a tiny pouch in my lower belly. For a second, I want to cover myself and cross my arms over my stomach.
