Page 78 of Hats off to Love

One corner of his mouth tips up. “Only one way to find out.” He holds out his hand, which I take, letting him lead me to the dance floor.

He sighs against me, and with my body melting into his, I lose myself in the moment of the beautiful orchestra music playing and the feeling of being in Stokes’s arms.

“Are you having fun tonight?” he asks, his temple resting against mine as I’m wearing sky-high heels.

“I am. What about you?” I shift back just a tiny bit to look at him.

“How could I not? I’m here with you,” he says, his gaze roaming my face.

I want to make a fun sarcastic comment back to him, but the sincerity in his tone makes me speechless. There’s also the fact that he tilts my chin up and lays his lips against mine.

A kiss from Stokes Whitlock is good for a girl’s soul.

I lean into him, his hand shifts to gently cradle my face, and I let him deepen the kiss by sweeping his tongue against mine. Who cares that we’re in a room full of people? Certainly not me when I’m his sole focus—me, no one else. My body ignites, just like it always does, every single time. It’s exhilarating. It’s delicious. It’s addicting. It’s the same burst of awe that makes me wonder how I lived so long without this. With that, I slant my lips further over his, allowing him to ease us into a fiery kiss. He tastes like salt and wine, a mix of honey and spice. He tastes like snippets of our day together, one I look forward to having over and over with him.

“Are you ready to go?” He breaks the kiss and murmurs the words against my lips.

My tongue and my heart are so twisted, yearning for more of him, and all I can squeak out is a “Yes.”

The entire ride back to his apartment, we sit next to each other in dead silence. He has one hand on my lap, and the fingers of the other are tangled with mine. His thumb keeps brushing back and forth across the inside of my wrists, and it feels so erotic I’m certain if he just blew on me, I’d see stars.

At the apartment, as the door closes behind us, I walk into the living room and find the gem-crusted pins I used to secure my hair behind my ears. Stokes comes up behind me, and he gently takes them and places them on the end table next to the door.

I should turn around, I know I should, but if I do, I’m afraid he’ll see every emotion stamped across my face. Although I’m certain my sentiments would be returned, there’s still something holding me back. I’m not sure what it is, but I can feel it deep down in my bones, and it says, Soon, but not yet.

His hands fall to my shoulders, and he pulls me back into him. I easily lean against him as he wraps his body around mine and runs his large hands down my arms, across my chest, and over my stomach to my thighs and back. He’s above me, around me, and as my head falls back against his shoulder, his lips make their way to my neck.

“I want to devour every inch of you.” His words vibrate against my skin. “I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t get enough of you. I think of you. I dream of you. When we’re together, I’m having separate conversations with you in my mind. It’s never enough.”

I turn around in his arms, and his mouth instantly finds mine. His palms flatten against my bare back, pulling me into him, and my arms drape over his shoulders, one hand slipping into his hair to keep his head firmly locked with mine. Stokes kisses like no man on this planet. He isn’t timid, he isn’t sweet, he is all in, and I’m here for every second of it. His lips and his tongue are so wet, so warm, and so delicious I feel ruined and saved by him at the same time.

His hands slide up and over my rib cage until they find my face. His palms wrap around my cheeks, his fingers tangle in my hair, and he tilts my head back so he can look me in the eyes. There’s something there, something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say to me, but his eyes turn wary, and before I can see anything else, he closes them and lowers his lips to mine.

Strings pull on my heart as if it is a marionette, but as much as I want him to speak, I’m not saying it either, so I can’t push him. I can just tell him how I feel nonverbally and hope he does the same.

Reaching for my side zipper, he slowly pulls it down until the fabric falls loose and the pretty rose gold dress wisps its way to the floor. Instead of wearing a regular bra, I’m wearing a stick-on one that lifts and shapes. He groans at the sight and the heat of my skin pressing into him. Slowly and methodically, he peels it off, and then his hands run over my back and down to my butt, where he cups both cheeks and pulls me hard up against him.

As we lean back, our eyes lock together. His lids are heavy, his lashes are ridiculously long, his lips are red and puffy, and his hair is perfectly disheveled. He’s so handsome one of those strings pulls hard, and my heart cries out. How I’ll survive this if it ends, I have no idea, but I’m laying faith and confidence in him and in us at his feet. I know it’s only been a few weeks, even though our history together makes it feel like so much longer. I’m okay with him holding back a piece of himself, as long as he knows I’m ready when he is.

Moving my hands to his shoulders, I tuck my thumbs under the lapels of his jacket and slip the sleeves over his shoulders and down his long arms. The jacket joins my dress on the floor. Next, I undo his tie and then slide my arms around his waist to the cummerbund, which I unclip until it too lands on the floor.

How many times have I seen Stokes in a suit and subconsciously undressed him? It almost feels surreal that I’m standing here with him now, and I’m getting to do just this. Granted, a tuxedo is a little fancier, but the pressed shirt, tie, and slacks make it the same. What feels even more surreal is now knowing what he looks like underneath it.

Lowering my hand between us, I cup him through his pants, and he lets out a pained sound. I understand; I do. I want him as much as he wants me. His hand covers mine and he squeezes, so I squeeze him.

“I can’t,” he mutters, his forehead falling to mine, his breaths coming out slightly labored.

“So don’t,” I tell him, and this unlocks whatever restraint he was attempting to hold on to.

Grabbing me by the hand, he pulls me down the hall to his bedroom, where he strips off our remaining clothes in record time. We tumble onto his decadent and insanely soft bed, where I let him take the lead, and he ravishes me, every inch. Sucking a little here, licking a little there, he fills the space with kisses, and all the while, I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to memorize each move he makes and how his lips make me feel. I will be returning the favor, but only when it is my turn, as this is definitely his.

Working his way up my body, he covers me completely, and his weight presses me down. Settling between my thighs, he sinks all the way in with one single push. I love his weight, and I love being connected to him. Tonight he owns my body—wait, who am I kidding? He’s owned it for a while now. Maybe he always has.

Time passes as we each enjoy the feel of the other. Fast. Slow. Hard. Soft. My heart is nearly bursting as he takes me to places I’ve never gone. I thought our time together before was incredible, but tonight we’ve moved to a whole new level, and I have to fight to keep the tears away.

I love him so much.

Hovering over me, he stops moving his hips and gently asks me to look at him. My damp eyes open, and when they find his, this intangible current instantly connects us, and I know, I know he sees what I see. Reflecting back and forth between the two of us is love. It has to be. I was right about nonverbals, mine for his, and it’s the best feeling in the world.