Page 55 of To Tango, with Desire

I gritted my teeth, needing to maintain control.

“Are you okay?”

I turned to face her, ready to dismiss her comment, when her mouth parted.

“I want you.”

Her eyes widened, and God help me, when she licked her lips, all self-control snapped. When the lift doors opened, I tugged at her hand, drawing her towards my parked car.

“Zane?”

“I want a minute, just give me a goddamn minute and then you can go home.” I yanked open the car door, sliding into the back seat after her. And pounced.

I kissed her like a man starved, like she was my salvation. When she kissed me back, tongue sliding along mine, I couldn’t help but groan. I wanted nothing more than to slide up her dress and bury myself in all that warm heat. I wanted to hear that sound she made when she came. To watch her face as she did.

I cursed, picking her up and placing her on my lap. She straddled me, exposing the long lines of her thighs and I sucked in an unsteady breath, so fucking turned on, I thought I’d come on the spot. I was obsessed with her, needing and wanting and craving Amira more than I cared to admit. I’d dreamed about her last night. Of touching her, holding her, doing every wicked thing to her until she shattered in my arms.

It was desire. Lust. Nothing more.

I could channel it, control it, fucking tame it . . .

But not now. God help me, not tonight.

I cupped her hips, sinfully feminine and curved, making my way up to her breasts. I paused, appreciating their fullness, enjoying the way her nipples begged for contact beneath my fingers.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Her response was immediate. “No.”

Hitching up her dress, I pressed against her clit, rubbing against the soft satin of her underwear. When she gripped my shoulders, digging her nails into my suit jacket, I knew I would need to taste her.

I froze, waiting for her to open her eyes. “Tell me you want me, Amira. Tell me you want this and I won’t stop until you come.”

“I—”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want this. I want you.”

I shoved aside her panties, circling her entrance, loving the way she gasped. I stroked her back and forth, then cursed in frustration. The underwear had to go.

“Sit up,” I ordered, tugging at the offending scrap of clothing until I nearly fucking ripped it off. Once she was positioned over me, I took my fill, cupping her wet heat, encouraging her to do whatever the fuck she wanted.

“Zane.” She gasped, rocking against my hand.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking stop.”

I took my hand away, placing her wet heat firmly against my erection. The contact made me see stars. I wanted nothing more than to free my cock from my pants and drive into her, but this wasn’t about me. It was her pleasure to take.

Sliding down the straps of her dress, I muttered a silent prayer of thanks for the female body before feasting on her breasts. Her cry of pleasure was an aphrodisiac, and when she fisted her hands in my hair, tugging at the short strands, I welcomed the sensation. Wanted more.

I sucked at her nipple, appreciating the fullness of her breast, touching and kneading the other, unable to get enough of this. Of her.

I groaned as she rocked against me, harder this time. The rhythm constant.

“I want . . .” She panted. “Zane, I need—”

“More?”