‘Will there be someone at home?’ My tone is rougher than I intended, and I catch myself before I wince at her wide-eyed expression.
‘N-no,’ she replies, slightly perturbed.
‘You can’t, then. Men like him don’t give up. You can’t be alone tonight.’ Shite. That didn’t sound the way it should’ve, a thought confirmed as her hand falls away.
‘My friend is here in the hotel.’
‘Same room?’
She gives a quick shake of her head. ‘She’s currently... otherwise engaged.’
‘There’s a euphemism if I ever heard one,’ I say, taking her arm, our feet finally moving again.
‘At least one of us is having fun,’ she mumbles.
‘Aye, I can think of better ways to spend an evening.’ I grit my jaw, wishing I’d pulled the fucker out into the street.
‘Again, I’m sorry to have been so much trouble.’ She stops again, and while she might not have her hand on one cocked hip, her attitude is the same. I’ve pissed her off.
‘That’s not what I mean.’ Before my sentient self realises, I’ve stepped into her, backing her against the door, my hands on the doorframe by her head. ‘I meant what I said earlier.’
‘And I told you,’ she says, raising her chin a fraction higher. ‘I don’t scream for anyone.’
‘You’d scream for me.’ Probably from fright if she could see what was running through my head.
‘This is me,’ she says, producing the key card between us. ‘But if you’re not coming inside, I guess we’ll never find out.’
Against everything I stand for as an adult, and against everything I’ve been telling myself since we stepped out of the lift, I grasp the card from where it’s balanced between her two fingers. It all happens in slow motion.
I lower the key to the reader, her darkened eyes falling closed as I press my hips into her. She feeds her arms around my neck, and the door opens from the momentum of our bodies.
My arm around her waist, my bulk is the counterweight preventing her fall as we stumble into the room, everything speeding up again.
I kick the door closed, dropping the key to fuck knows where as I haul her tighter against me. My mouth commands our kiss, forcing it deeper and wetter until her fingers are pulling my hair and she’s moaning into my mouth. And fuck, if that doesn’t do it for me, making me frantic. Fills my head with the notion that I could spend an evening devouring her with just my mouth.
And that’s a fucking thought. One that makes my whole body physically ache—makes my mouth water for the taste of her. The image of her garter belt and splayed legs heightens my desire, my desperation clear in the tenor of my groans and the wild movement of my hands on her—my lips as I drag them across her jaw, my teeth as I touch them to her neck and the soft swell of her breast. And all the while, I’m moving us farther into the room as she strips me of my jacket, pulling my shirt loose from the waist and dragging it over my head.
It’s not a room but a suite, I notice, as we emerge from a dark hallway into the moonlit space. I make out the lounge setting—couches and tables. All kinds of things to bend her over and position her against. Like the back of the console table I push her up against. There’s a chair or a couch in front of it, the dark shapes of more furniture gathered around.
If I had half a brain left, I might take her to the bedroom. Make the first time I fuck her count because I know once I crack this seal, once won’t be enough. But I can’t think of anything beyond her ragged breathing causing her chest to heave under my nose and my desperation to taste her. All of her.
As her backside hits the console table, I frame her tits with my hands, biting her nipples over the fabric and making her exhale a soft curse.
‘Bedroom,’ she adds huskily as my lips find her neck, the direction and words lost to the night air as she tilts her head back, giving me access to her pale skin. I kiss my way over her bared shoulder, biting the skin where it curves to her neck and causing her to hiss. I lift her knee, dragging it to my hip to grind against her like a teenager.
‘I’m so fucking hard for you,’ I growl in her ear, watching as she lifts her hand to where her dress is clasped at the shoulder. It falls away from her skin with a stiff kind of reluctance, barely revealing anything as I watch on like a pervert at a peep show.
‘Zipper at the side,’ she rasps, but I push her hand away as she reaches for it.
‘Not so fast.’
‘I want to feel you,’ she replies, sliding her hand down my chest, causing my abs to tighten in anticipation. She slides it farther between us, pressing her palm to where I’m rock hard under my kilt and tightening her fingers around my girth. For a minute, I wonder if this is what a penitent feels like wearing a hair shirt. As she presses harder, I groan roughly, pulsing into her hand.
‘That’s so... wow,’ she whispers, her eyes widening as her gaze flicks to mine. ‘You’re so big,’ she whispers, arching her back. But between her hand, her dress, and my kilt, there’s little relief for either of us.
And while it’s always good to hear a little appreciation, I try not to smirk as I answer. ‘This is all you,’ I whisper, pressing my lips to her neck. ‘All because of you.’
I lower her leg, placing my palms solidly on the front of her thighs. ‘I’m so fucking hard, and I can scarcely think straight for imagining what’s waiting for me under this dress.’
