The whisper tickles my neck, and goose bumps spread from the contact. I turn to look at him, and we’re kissing again, stumbling into the lobby. Someone snickers behind me as I break the kiss, but Asher pays it no mind. He drags me toward the elevators, and as we pass the check-in desks, that weird girl from yesterday smirks.
“Have a good night, Mr. Foley.”
He waves a hand at her without looking, then mashes the up button beside the elevator. The bell dings, and he pushes me into the empty car. My back hits the wall, and his mouth is against mine, pausing only to smash the nine button. His hands grow bolder when the door closes, sliding over my breasts on their way to my thighs. Silk bunches in his fist as he drags it up.
Maybe this is stupid. Maybe I should stop us. But I’m impatient now. On fire. My body has wanted this far longer than I’ve acknowledged, and it’s unwilling to comply with my doubts.
“You’re sure about this?” he asks against my throat.
No. I’m not sure about anything. The heat of his hands, the flames of desire—they’re the only things keeping the icy floods of terror at bay. Nothing about this is safe. If I let him touch me, let him inside me, none of my hang-ups will dissolve, but everything between us will change irreversibly.
I want it anyway. I’m sitting in a roller coaster with no harness.
Wrestling with the buttons of his shirt, I nod. “I’m sure.”
His bare hand climbs my thigh. “I’ve been thinking about this since that kiss. Before that, actually.”
Air has forsaken me, but I manage to say, “Yeah? What did you think about?”
His fingers hook around the G-string beneath my dress and jerks it down. The garment lands at my feet as the elevator door opens. “Everything.” He ducks to pick it up. From that position, he glances up and meets my eyes. Clothes half undone, hair in sexy disarray, he stares at me like he can’t quite believe the proof of his own eyes. “Even though I tried not to.”
My heart aches for him. Strains for him. Beats for him.
I want him. So much. It’s overwhelmed my senses and plunged me deep into the most primitive of sensations: pain. This want hurts. It throbs and pounds and reverberates in my skin.
The elevator starts to close, but he jerks a hand out to stop it. He rises slowly, stuffing my underwear into his pocket. Strong fingers grip my waist, and he pulls me against him, spinning until I’m against the wall beside the elevator. I reach for him, but he grabs my wrists as he kisses me, then pins them to the wall.
His mouth travels to my ear. “The things I want to do to you...”
My entire body is one giant heartbeat, pounding hardest between my legs, and I don’t care about the scene we’re creating. If he dove under my dress in this hallway, I don’t think I’d stop him.
He drapes my arms around his neck and lifts me from the floor.
I shriek-laugh. “You picked me up.”
His low hum of agreement vibrates through my body as I hold tight to him. “You aren’t getting away again,” he says.
At the door to our suite, he sets me down to slide the keycard out of his pocket. Before he uses it, though, he cups my cheek. I think he might say something—or worse, second-guess this—but he just stares into my eyes. Memorizing, maybe? Or perhaps extracting my soul from my body since it sort of feels like I’m losing more of myself in his gaze with each second that passes.
What is this feeling?
Why is it consuming everything?
I kiss him again to smother it, and the taste of him—champagne with a whisper of sweetness—strikes a chord against my soul. He’s deep in there. He’s in my foundation.
“I want you,” I say against his mouth. “Please.”
Oh, he liked thatplease, didn’t he? His eyes go all hungry, making my blood hum in my veins. With a quick tap, the lock clicks and allows us into the room. I can hardly move fast enough. Before the door has fully shut, I seize his clothes, wrestling them from his body while he walks me backward, tugging at the wide straps of my dress.
At the bedroom door, his slacks fall to his ankles, and he pauses to yank them from his body, along with his shoes. Insides tingling, I pull the side zipper of my dress. As it gapes, he loses focus. One sock is still in place, but he reaches for me anyway. Confident, insistent fingers peel the silk from my body. The bra that matches the G-string is sheer lace, and his gaze drops and lingers, luring heat to the surface of my skin wherever it touches.
He stretches around me to undo the back clasp. “I used to try so hard not to wonder what was under that black bikini.”
He did? I can’t catch my breath. My heart pounds in a painful, erratic rhythm. I splay my hands over the sharp planes of his chest and drag them down, pliant skin over toned muscle. “I used to wonder what it would feel like to do this.”
“And?”
“And I want to touch more.”
