I moan against his mouth when his hard length presses against me. I reach down, palming the impressive size over his jeans.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I whisper, sucking that plump bottom lip of his into my mouth.
I think I have an addiction to his lips. I can’t get enough. They’re perfect. Soft. Tender. Demanding. The top is slighter smaller than the bottom with a deep cupid’s bow that I want to trace with my tongue.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
I unzip his pants, sneaking my hand inside to find he isn’t wearing underwear. A small gasp escapes me. I wasn’t expecting the warmth of him to press against my hand so soon.
His knees buckle at the same time a broken whimper sounds from him. His lips part, his eyes closed, brows pinched. My hand wraps around the girth and I give his cock a slow, tentative stroke.
“Olivia,” he growls, slamming his mouth onto mine again. “Bedroom?”
“First door.” I tilt my head back when he nips down my neck. “On the left.”
The scent of the warm sugar candle hits my nose as he tosses me onto the bed. Those bright blue eyes are beacons in the shadowed room, calling me home.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He slicks his hair back again, a wayward piece deciding to be unruly and curling on his forehead. “You had no idea how bad I wanted you in that conference room. The way you changed the air around me, the way you made it easier to breathe while wreaking havoc on my blood, I never thought I’d have a chance.”
“You had a chance. You’ve been the only chance, Elias. This entire time.”
He tugs the long-sleeved black henley shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. I want to see everything. I stretch to turn on the lamp, casting that dim yellow glow across the room, and it shines directly onto him.
Golden skin, tattooed arms from shoulder to wrist. Intricate designs, almost gothic with statuesque angels and warriors. They’re beautiful.
Elias is beautiful.
I swallow audibly and push myself up onto my knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. Unable to stop myself, I reach out to touch his stomach. I take my time, lazily stroking the divots between his abs, loving how his stomach contracts with eager, lustful breaths. I’m completely enamored. My attention is glued to his body, every hard line, every sculpted edge.
Every breath he takes, I fall a little deeper.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, quietly, as if I’m afraid to wake up someone else in the apartment. “Your body is a work of art.” I slide my hands up his sides, dragging my nails gently up his ribs, over his wide, sculpted pecs, over his shoulders, then down his arms.
Then up again.
Then down.
I’m not sure how long I’m there, touching him, marveling at the man standing in front of me, but eventually, he takes my hand and gives my knuckles a kiss.
“I’ve never had anyone take me in like this before,” he admits in the quiet room that’s only filled with our gasps.
I don’t miss the vulnerability in his voice.
“Lucky me. It means all my discoveries are mine and mine alone.” I lean in, kissing the middle of his abdomen. His soft, trimmed hair tickles my face.
He steps forward, his fingers drifting through my hair. I don’t hurry. I don’twantto hurry. I want to take him in. His body is so different in person than on camera. It’s so much better live and in the flesh. For weeks I’ve been gifted with his body to yearn for, to pleasure myself to, to come to, and I’ve dreamed of touching him for too many nights to ruin the moment I’ve been wishing for.
He might wake up tomorrow and decide this isn’t what he wants.
I’m going to relish this. Just in case.
My fingers find the waistband of his jeans, tracing the edge of his hips. When I look up at him, his head is tilted, eyes closed, and he’s murmuring something I can’t quite hear. It doesn’t take much to unbutton his jeans.
“Oh, fuck.” His eyes snap open, intense lightning-blue irises freezing me in place.
As I lower the zipper, the grinding metal sends my skin to a pebbled frenzy. His jeans hang low and I can see a faint V cut into his hips.
He is perfect.
