I let my hands rest on her waist, the lavender silk slick under my palms. “For what?”
A tiny, watery ghost of a smirk touches her lips. “For scaring the absolute shit out of my dad.”
I let out a short, rough laugh, the tension in my shoulders finally beginning to ease. “I’m a man of many hidden talents.”
Her gaze softens, turning deep and liquid. “And thank you for seeing me. For really seeing me.”
“Always, Annie,” I say, my voice sounding a lot more vulnerable than I intended. “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
She kisses me again, and this time it’s not soft or quick. It’s a press of desperation and gratitude, a claiming. She tastes like the salt of her tears and that damn Wrigley’s spearmint gum she’s always chewing. I’m pretty sure I’ll be finding those green and white wrappers in the cushions of this couch until the year 2000, and honestly, I don’t care.
The kiss deepens instantly, turning into something hot and heady. My hand moves to the side of her face, holding her there, and she melts into it with a soft, needy sound in the back of her throat. It’s not a graceful sound; it’s raw and real, and it goes straight to my gut.
She gently pulls on my bottom lip with her teeth, and a low moan rumbles out of me before I can stop it. I slide my tongue against hers, and she meets me with a hunger that matches my own. Her hands come up, tangling in my hair, her fingersscraping lightly against my scalp and the sensation sends an electric jolt straight down my spine.
My hands move to her waist, pulling her flush against me. I’m acutely aware of the fact that she’s sitting on my lap, and I’m even more aware of the fact that my pants are suddenly feeling several sizes too small. If she can feel how much I want her—and let’s be real, there’s no hiding it at this point—she doesn’t seem to mind. She shifts, grinding down against me just slightly, and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.
I push the heavy wool of my suit jacket off her shoulders. It slides down her arms and falls to the floor with a soft thump. Her shoulders are bare and smooth, dotted with a few faint freckles. The radiator is clanking in the corner, but the air in the room is still cool, and I can see the way her nipples have peaked under the thin fabric of the dress.
She doesn’t stop kissing me. Her mouth is relentless, and I catch her tongue, sucking it slowly, drawing it out with a drag that has her moaning back, the sound vibrating between us, her body arching closer like she can’t get enough.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a fire, burning away the chill and the hurt of the night, and I am more than happy to let it consume us both.
My hands slide up her back, feeling the delicate bumps of her spine through the dress, the heat of her skin underneath. She rocks against me again and I groan, my fingers digging into her hips.
She breaks the kiss, her breath ragged against my lips. “Fuck me,” she murmurs, the words a desperate plea.
Her hands move down my chest to my pants, her fingers working on my belt. The metallicclankof the buckle loosening is loud in the quiet apartment and my brain is nothing but a haze of want, but a thread of reason pulls through.
“Annie, are you sure—” I start to ask, but the words die as her hand slips past the waistband of my briefs, wrapping firmly around my cock, which is already throbbing hard for her.
The feeling is so intense my vision blurs. A choked sound escapes me, half-moan, half-sigh. Her hand starts moving, her grip perfect, her rhythm maddening. Up and down, a smooth, slick motion that has my hips bucking off the couch. Her thumb presses against the tip, spreading the bead of moisture there, and I moan, my head falling back against the cushions. Her skin is so soft, so warm, and the friction is perfect as it turns into something desperate, making my cock twitch in her palm.
“Fuck me, Leo,” she whispers, her forehead pressed to mine. “Please. Just fuck me.”
The last thread of my restraint snaps. Fuck it.
She needs this. She needs to feel something else, anything else, besides the betrayal and the hollow ache her family carved into her tonight.
And I need her. I always need her.
My hands slide from her hips to the hem of her dress, gathering the delicate silk in my fists. I pull it up until it’s bunched around her waist. My fingers brush the thin lace of a thong, soaked through. “Christ, Annie,” I murmur against her ear, my voice thick. “You’re so wet for me.”
She whimpers in response, a needy, broken sound.
I don’t have the patience for lace. I hook my fingers into the sides of her underwear and pull. It gives way with a soft rip, and the ruined fabric falls away to the floor. Her eyes fly open, wide with surprise for a split second before a dark, determined look takes over. She gets to work on the buttons of my dress shirt—popping them open one by one—her nails scraping my chest hair as she exposes my skin, pushing the fabric wide open.
I don’t wait. I guide myself through her slickness, the head of my cock sliding through her folds, teasing us both. Shegasps, a sharp intake of breath, and her head falls back. I take the opportunity to kiss the elegant length of her throat, her collarbone.
I move my thumb to her clit, circling the swollen, sensitive bud. She jolts in my lap. “Leo,” she breathes, her hips bucking against my hand.
I grab her jaw with my free hand, tilting her just right, my tongue plunging in as she whimpers into the kiss. They’re little broken sounds of pleasure and frustration that drive me out of my mind as I keep stroking her, the pressure increasing.
“I need you,” she moans against my mouth, her hands finally pushing my shirt off my shoulders completely. “Inside me. Now.”
The world narrows to the feel of her, the sound of her.
“I don’t have any condoms in here,” I grit out, my thumb still working relentless circles on her clit, pressing harder now, feeling her pulse under the pad of my finger.
