When his mouth finds mine again, the kiss deepens until thought dissolves into sensation and tomorrow becomes a problem for people who aren’t us.
His breathing turns ragged.Beneath my palms, his heart drums staccato.
“God, Brie.”He breathes between kisses, his fingers finding the hem of my fitted t-shirt, pulling it over my head.“I want you all the time.Every moment.Everywhere.”
“That’s not quite possible.”I press my lips to his throat as I take my turn with his shirt buttons—the casual linen he wore for the flight, rumpled now.“Let’s settle for now.”
His hand slips between my legs, palming me through the thin lycra of my leggings.The friction makes me gasp.
I mirror his action, palming his hard length through his trousers, earning a groan and a soft nip on my earlobe.
I move to his belt and fumble—too many thoughts competing for attention, too much awareness that tomorrow everything changes.When I lean back to see the buckle properly, I’m caught by his dark, hungry gaze.
The moment his pants hit the floor, he steps out of them and crowds me backward.My calves hit the bed and suddenly I’m falling—caught, controlled—and he’s over me, pressing me into the plush duvet.
“Don’t call it settling.”His voice is rough, possessive.
His lips cover mine and his tongue invades as his hand slides up to cradle my neck, his thigh pressing between my legs, his erection digging into my hip through the stretch of his boxer briefs.
“You’re a fucking dream,” he groans.
I finger his hair, holding him so I can see his eyes.I’ve been called many things—asset, operative, honey trap—but a dream doesn’t sit well.“Dreams end.Fantasies lose their luster.”
His hips rock forward, his muscled thigh pressing harder against my core through the lycra.His hair is tousled, undone, his breath shallow, but god, the way he’s looking at me—like we’re solid, permanent—it’s unnerving.
With every shift of his torso, heat spirals through me.My sports bra and panties, his boxer briefs—thin barriers that somehow make the friction more intense.We’re grinding against each other on top of a plush comforter, desperate and frustrated and neither of us willing to slow down enough to properly undress.
He licks and sucks at my neck, his fingers yanking my sports bra up, freeing my breast, teasing my nipple between his fingers.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
My back arches and I twist from the sensitivity.“I’m yours.”
He stills.“What’s with the smile?”
“I’m happy.”The admission surprises us both.
This time, he smiles—rare, genuine, devastating.My fingers caress his ear as my gaze traces the hair that’s flopped over his brow.“You’re mine too, you know?It’s a reciprocal kind of thing.”
“I’m absolutely yours.”He chuckles, then his hips resume their rhythm, shifting my thigh up so I’m cradling him.With each thrust his erection drags over my core—just lycra and cotton between us, so thin I feel every ridge, every pulse.“You’ve ruined me for others.”
We kiss like we’re not planning to betray his family tomorrow.Like we’re not risking everything.Like we have forever.
The pressure builds—his weight, his rhythm, the friction against my clit through thin fabric—until I stiffen, brought to the brink by just this.
He pulls back, watching my face as I come apart beneath him.“Beautiful.”
Deft hands glide my sports bra up and I arch to help him remove it.As I relax back into the down comforter, still trembling, he trails kisses down my body—between my breasts, over my ribs, my belly.
He backs up, hooks his fingers in my panties and the lycra leggings together, and slides them down my hips.I lift, helping him maneuver them off, legs together, then up and free.He sends them sailing across the room.
Looking supremely satisfied with himself, he sits back, spreading my legs wide.His thumb traces through my center.“Gorgeous.”
He settles between my thighs, running his nose along the inside, inhaling.Then he parts me with his fingers and drags his tongue through me slow enough to make me shake.
I gasp.He grins like he’s won something.And then he maps me with his mouth.Licking and sucking until I can’t stay still.
I bite my lip to keep from saying his name too loudly behind hotel walls, some last thread of discipline that dissolves when his tongue circles my clit and his fingers curl inside.
