Page 82 of To Tango, with Desire

TWENTY-TWO

AMIRA

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I froze, gripping the vibrator in my hand. Hastily, I sat up, shoving down my T-shirt, trying to cover myself, but the material did nothing to hide my nakedness.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Zane smirked, slipping off his tie and unbuttoning the top two knots of his blue shirt.

“I didn’t realize you were home.”

“Apparently.”

I tried to remain poised. I was a young, healthy woman and I had needs. I had never felt ashamed about my sexuality. Or my appetite for pleasure.

“I wouldn’t object to being greeted like this every evening.” Zane smiled. “I was going to suggest we go out for dinner tonight.”

“Oh.”

“But now I’d rather eat in.”

I tried to speak, but what came out was a whimper.

Zane slipped off his jacket, throwing it over the armchair. The very same armchair that he’d jacked off in countless times while watching me come. Holy hell. The thought of it made me want to lose control.

He stood, hands in his pockets, seemingly unaffected. If it weren’t for the bulge in his trousers, I’d never have known his desire for me. I should have waited for him to come home but I was so damn aroused I couldn’t help myself.

We’d gotten into a routine lately. More of a sex game really. Who could make the other person come first without touching them. It’d been fun. Fulfilling, even.

Up until now.

All I wanted, all I really wanted, was for Zane to finish the job.

I was sick of waiting. Of pretending.

Slowly, I parted my legs, enjoying the way his eyes trailed up my calves, stopping at my center. I knew what he would see. I was already wet, pink, and swollen from the vibrator.

But I wanted his mouth, the soft, firm pressure of his tongue on my clit.

“I’d like that very much.”

Zane’s eyes flashed, and it took him seconds to unbuckle his belt, slipping off his pants, socks, and shoes. His shirt floated to the floor.

“Tell me what you want, Amira.”

“I want you to . . .”

“To what?”

“I want your mouth on my clit. I want to feel your tongue inside of me.”

He walked over to the edge of the bed in his boxers. I wanted to run my tongue over his pecks, down the firm plane of his abs before taking that wicked bulge in my mouth.

Crooking his finger, he motioned for me to come over. “Lie down, edge of the bed.”

I did as he commanded, stomach fluttering.

“Knees bent.”