“Tell me what you want, Jess,” he demands, his voice rough with desire as his lips trail down my neck.
The question momentarily startles me. I’m used to leading interviews, not answering questions. But there’s something intoxicating about relinquishing control to him, just for tonight.
“You,” I manage, my voice breathier than I’ve ever heard it. “All of you.”
He smiles against my skin, and I can feel the curve of his lips as he sucks lightly at the junction of my neck and shoulder. “That wasn’t specific enough, Mrs. Lexington-Carmichael.”
The formal address, combined with his thumbs now circling just shy of where I need them most, sends a shudder through me.
“Not fair,” I gasp.
“I never claimed to play fair,” he murmurs, his hands sliding higher, pushing the fabric of my dress up as they move. When his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, I arch into his touch.
“Touch me,” I demand, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to my breast. “Properly.”
His eyes darken at my directness, and a flash of approval crosses his features before he complies, cupping mybreast through the thin fabric of my bra. His thumb circles my nipple until it hardens beneath his touch, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes me.
“God, the sounds you make,” he groans, his control visibly fraying. “I’ve imagined this so many times, but nothing compares to the reality of you.”
His confession sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. Lucas Carmichael, master of careful words and measured responses, admitting he’s fantasized about me? It’s a heady power all its own.
I tug at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. “Too many clothes.”
He steps back just enough to pull his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and I take the opportunity to remove my dress, letting it pool at my feet. His eyes track the movement, and there’s an urgency in them as they take in the black lace of my bra and matching underwear.
“Christ, Jess,” he breathes, the reverence in his voice making me feel more powerful than any byline ever has.
I reach for him, running my hands over the defined planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Carmichael.”
A flash of satisfaction crosses his face before he captures my mouth again, and his tongue slides against mine in a dance that mimics what I desperately want him to do elsewhere. His hands grip my thighs, lifting me slightly as he presses between my legs, the hard length of him evident through his pants.
I wrap my legs around his waist, using the leverage togrind against him, relishing his sharp intake of breath. Two can play at this game.
“You taste incredible,” he murmurs against my jaw before trailing kisses down my neck to my collarbone. “I wonder if you taste this good everywhere.”
I tangle my fingers in his hair and tug slightly to bring his gaze up to mine. “Why don’t you find out?” I arch an eyebrow in challenge.
The groan that escapes him is deeply satisfying. In one smooth motion, he drops my legs and sinks to his knees before me. He looks up with such raw desire that I nearly come undone on the spot.
“Is that an invitation, Mrs. Lexington-Carmichael?” he asks as his hands slide up my thighs with torturous slowness.
“It’s a demand,” I correct, my voice husky with want.
His smile is pure wickedness as his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and slowly drag the lace down my legs. I step out of them, expecting him to toss them aside. Instead, he deliberately folds them and tucks them into his pocket.
“Souvenir?” I ask, amused despite the heat building inside me.
He responds by putting his mouth on me, hot and insistent, and coherent thought becomes impossible. His tongue traces my center with devastating precision, finding the bundle of nerves that makes my knees buckle. Only his strong hands gripping my thighs keep me upright as pleasure courses through me.
I look down at him. Lucas Carmichael is on his knees before me, his eyes closed in concentration as he tastes me,and the sight is nearly as arousing as the sensation itself. My fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him where I need him most.
“There,” I gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit. “Right there.”
He hums in acknowledgment, and the vibration adds another layer to the pleasure building inside me. One of his hands leaves my thigh, and I feel his finger circling my entrance before slowly pushing inside and curling to hit a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
I’m making sounds I’ve never heard myself make—desperate, needy noises that would embarrass me if I weren’t so utterly lost in sensation. My hips move of their own accord, seeking more of his mouth, his fingers, anything he’ll give me.
“Lucas,” I breathe, not even caring that it sounds like pleading. “I’m close.”
