He puts the drinks he grabbed from the refrigerator on the coffee table, and it’s like his whole demeanor changes.
“You want me to tell you how fucking good of a writer you are?” He arches one eyebrow but there’s a playfulness to his tone, and I’m excited to see more of it.
“I would love to hear how good you think I am.”
“I think your mind is brilliant. It’s fascinating and slightly messed up.” Laughter shocks me along with his accurate observation. He smiles at me as he continues, taking a step closer to me. “The woman I know and thewriter I know are so different it makes me want to figure out how you come up with the stories you do. It’s— You’re intriguing as hell, Will.”
I close the gap between us, pleased as hell at his analysis of me and more flattered than I’ll ever let on. But what I can’t stop is my hand moving up to brush my fingertips against his chest, right over his heart, before sliding up and around his neck.
“Willow…”
“I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” I ask sweetly, already knowing the answer if the bulge in his jeans is anything to go by.
He doesn’t answer me with words. No, what he does is so much fucking better. He uses one hand as a boost under my ass, lifting me up with zero strain. I wrap my legs around him, gripping his neck as my eyes go wide at the insane show of strength. Being wrapped around him also makes me keenly aware of our size difference.
But then I feel his erection digging into my legging-clad pussy, and all thoughts disappear as an unbidden moan sounds from my throat. I feel us moving, but my mind is too hazy with lust to know where until my back is slammed against a wall. His lips go to my neck, kissing and nipping.
“No, you aren’t reading this wrong.” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust of his hips, making me gasp and pull my head away.
That’s when I see we’re right next to the bookcase, right next to my books, and somehow that little detail lights me on fire. He doesn’t just like my body or my sexuality; he likes my brain.He likes my fucking brain.
Is there anything sexier than that?
Not to me.
I roll my hips, causing him to growl against my neck before taking those kisses and nips to my collarbone and the shoulder that’s exposed. Throwing my head back, I take in how I’m feeling.
Hot.
Impatient.
Sexy.
Irresistible.
Horny.
I have never felt so turned on by a man in my life, and I feel antsy, jittery, and on the verge of being overstimulated. But I roll my hips again because horny wins out above all else.
His big hands slide up my rib cage, under my shirt, before his lips make their way back up my neck and across my cheek into the sweetest kiss that almost breaks me, before he pulls back slightly.
“I did not expect this,” he says plainly. No inflection, just facts, and I love it.
“I can’t say I’m disappointed,” I breathe out as his hips roll again. The grin on his face as I struggle to talk makes me bite my lip with a smile.
“I just want verbal consent before it goes any further.”
Well, damn, just when I thought he couldn’t get any sexier. His brown eyes shift back and forth between mine, waiting for my answer.
“I’m so ready to take this further. Do your best, James Oakley.” I wink then squeal as he spins me off the wall and walks the few steps to a door, which I assume leads to his bedroom.
“I was kind of hoping for wall sex,” I pout.
“There’ll be time,” he says before tossing me onto his bed with no exertion.
His hand moves to the back of his neck, reaching behind him and ripping his Henley off.
Holy Jesus, did I say he couldn’t get any sexier? I lied.
