Page 58 of Serenade Me

Leaning towards the elevator door, I press the button for our room’s floor, her hand still gripped in mine, as if there’s an understanding that if we let go, this all disappears in the wind. Let’s hold on, at least for these moments.

The ding of the elevator startles us both, and the doors open. There’s a hesitation. I’m not sure from whom, but neither of us race to step off. I smile at her and she looks away for the first time. But just for a moment, then she leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to my cheek before stepping off the elevator and leading me to her room.

Pulling the key card from her pocket she slides it into the slot and pushes the door, and I follow her inside.

For the first time, we let each other’s hands go, and stand there in the foyer of her room, staring at each other.

“Anca,” I say, and it’s the first thing I’ve said to her since we left the park.

She smiles and presses her finger to my lips, shushing me. Pulling her finger away, she replaces it with her lips, and then the hunger for her reignites in my torso.

“God, Anca,” I say, this time, and my own voice sounds somewhat erotic in my own ears, saying her name.

“Marius, take me, make love to me,” she whimpers, and those words, her voice saying those words, redefine what eroticism is in that instant.

I take her hand and pull her arm over my neck as I scoop her up into my arms.

I lay her on the bed and she pulls herself up onto her knees. I sit on the edge as I watch her.

Watch as she hooks her fingers into the straps of the dress and slides them off her shoulder. The dress slinks down her body and, oh god, she’s not wearing a bra. And she is… she is exquisite.

“Anca,” I say again, this time with barely any breath left in my body.

She smiles and holds her hand out to me, I take it, gently. She giggles softly and yanks me against her, and I fall, losing my balance, against her. She helps break my fall with her hand on my shoulder, but then my mouth finds her. Her skin. The soft, silken, milky white luxuriousness of her flat but soft stomach, the valley between her breast, her décolletage, and then, fuck, holy fuck, her breasts. Her plump, gorgeous, soft, delectable breasts. What little patience I had is lost as soon as her nipple hardens at the first touch of my cheek against her, and I suckle on the sweet, pink nub with an urgency I’ve never felt. Her moans vibrate from the pit of her stomach and I move my mouth to her other nipple, flicking the tip with my tongue, feeling it tighten and swell in a matter of split seconds.

Her hands are in my hair, massaging the sides of my head, and I wonder how it can get better than this.

“Marius. Don’t make me wait. I’ve waited for you long enough. Make love to me. Now,” she says.

I pull off her, off the bed and she sits up, following me. I fumble with my belt, but she reaches out, replacing my hands, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding the zipper down. Her hands graze my hard cock as she does, and my whole-body freezes.

Fuck.

God, I want her so bad.

She looks up at me, a soft smile playing on her lips, and there’s something so sweet about her that I crave. I lean over to kiss her.

As I do, she slides my pants and briefs down my legs, and when I finally pull away, I’m hard and ready in front of her. She bites her lips, looking at my cock and then back at me.

I can’t help but chuckle at the sexiness of her look.

“No, bad girl. You can’t touch me until I’m inside you or else this will all be over way too fast.”

“Fine, I just hope that you recover fast then.” The look she gives me is sly and I almost blow on the spot at the thought of her mouth wrapped around me.

It’s a delicious thought, but not what I want.

I want her.

I want to be inside her.

Taking her and giving to her, everything.

I pull my t-shirt over my head as I kneel on the bed, and she moves up higher, her hand bracing against the bed head, her breasts, her goddamned fuckable breasts exposed to me completely. I pull the dress down her legs and trace my fingers over the soft purple cotton panties covering her from me.

“God, Anca.” I say, feeling the fullness of her lips against the fabric.

“Hmmm, Marius, stop playing,” she murmurs.