When he breaks the kiss and catches his breath, I say the only words I can manage. “I want you. Please.”
His eyes squeeze shut. His jaw clenches. He’s still for a few dangerously long seconds, like this is the tipping point. But when he opens those deep, dark eyes, he’s clearly lost too—to this feeling.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He lets go of one of my wrists and grabs my chin, making sure I’m looking at him. As if I could look away. “I can’t stop wanting you. Tell me you feel the same.”
It’s a demand, but it’s more like a desperate plea. “Same,” I say, reaching for him with my body.
He lets go of my other wrist, moves like a cheetah off me, and yanks the covers off too. Then he climbs back over me, our hips flush. This time I wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him close.
He finds the pulse at the base of my throat and kisses me there. I arch, moaning as wicked sensations radiate through me from my core all the way to my toes.
His mouth skims over my neck, then he moves down my chest, kissing me here, there, everywhere—my shoulders, the tops of my breasts, my arms.
He tugs at my cami. “Need this off.”
In a flash it’s gone, and his mouth comes down on my right breast, his teeth grazing my nipple.
“God,” I gasp, my fingers lacing through his thick, messy hair. I want to hold on to this hair. Grab it hard as he goes down on me. I want to rake my fingers through it as he fucks me. But I want something else first.
As the idea takes shape in my head, Banks travels down my body till his mouth is on my stomach and he’s lighting me up with hungry, needy kisses. “Need to taste you before I fuck you.”
That sounds amazing. Truly, it does. But first, I push up to my elbows, breathing hard, frantically. “There’s something I want.”
He stops, his eyes blazing with heat. “What is it, Ripley?”
My gaze strays to his hands. “You’re good with your hands,” I begin, then swallow, my desire spreading like liquid inside me.
A vein pulses in his neck. “I am.”
I picture yesterday in the front seat of the truck. How he held me. “Do you want me to…” This shouldn’t be hard to say, and truly, it’s not. But I’m taking my time since I’m loving his reaction. The anticipation in his irises. The quiet gust of his breath. The rise and fall of his chest. My gaze drifts up toward the slats of the headboard. “…Hold on to the headboard?”
His eyes darken and he licks his lips. But he’s quiet for a beat, like the thought is almost too much to bear. Like he needs time toprocess. Or maybe not too much time, since a second later, one word flies out of his mouth. “Yes.”
“Great. That’s great. Really. Because yesterday in the car…when you held my wrists…that was good. Really good. I liked it.” I’m talking too much. Too fast. Too pointlessly. But I can’t stop. “It seemed like you did too.”
I’m babbling. Holy fuck. I’m definitely babbling. But I want this so much, even though he’s already said yes.
“Fucking loved it.” Banks’s smile is filthy as he grabs the waistband of my panties, then tugs them off. “But first, I really need to taste you.”
He spreads my legs and buries his face between my thighs. He eats me like I’m the meal he desperately needs at the end of the day. There’s no hesitation, no teasing, just a hungry man craving sustenance. In no time, I’m grabbing his hair and jerking him close. Panting and gasping.
Lifting my hips.
Pleading.
Wanting.
But when my breath comes faster, he stops, denying me. Then rises. Wipes a hand across his mouth. “Patience,” he says, smooth and controlling.Patience, like he said to me the first night.
“Goddamn you,” I mutter as he moves to the edge of the bed.
“That’s right. Curse me, sweetheart. You know I like it.”
“You’re really going to make me wait?”
“Yes, I’m going to make you wait. And beg. And call my name.”
I grab a pillow and throw it at him as he walks to the table. “You jackass, Banks.”
