Page 48

“Your turn,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the edge of my sweater.

We pull it off together, discarding it on the floor, and then he’s looking at me with the dirtiest expression I think a gentleman has ever managed.

“You. Are. Exquisite.” He traces my bra again, turning his hand so his knuckles drag against my nipple, his jaw twitching when I let out a soft sigh. “And as much as I want to fuck you against these stairs, I want you in my bed more.”

“Then why are you talking and not walking?” I ask, unable to hide my smile. Because I’m not the same woman who cried her heart out for weeks in New York. I’m the woman who’s desperate to walk up those stairs.

Instead of answering, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms, like I’m no weight at all. His hands slide beneath my behind, and he kisses me again, before he carries me up the tiny staircase, the walls on either side of us are so close my elbows brush the plaster as he climbs.

His bedroom is the first door on the right. He nudges it open with his shoulder, then carries me in, only putting me down once we reach the edge of the bed.

Our eyes meet. The way he looks at me makes me feel completely safe yet so undeniably exposed. The only light in the room comes from the street lamp shining in shafts through the closed blinds. It casts parallel lines on his face and chest as he leans over me, gently moving on top of me until my back is against his mattress and I’m staring up at him.

He kisses my ear, my throat, then moves his mouth down to my chest, brushing his lips against the swell of my breasts before he slowly captures my nipple through the white lace. The warm wetness of his tongue and the sharp tug of his teeth make me groan, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He moves to my other breast, his mouth teasing until I feel pleasure pooling inside of me. Then he slowly reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. He slides the straps down my arms, then throws the scrap of lace behind him as he slides his tongue across the underside of my breast, before moving up and scraping his teeth against my nipple.

“Oh.” I arch into him. He slides his hands down to steady me, holding my sides as he lavishes attention on my breasts, sucking, kissing, scraping until I’m an overheated mess. I’m rocking my hips, desperate for friction, and he takes pity, sliding his muscled thigh between mine.

And he doesn’t. Stop. Sucking.

God, I think I’m going to die. At least this is a good way to go. I scrape my fingers against his scalp. “Theo. I need…”

“What do you need?” His eyes lift up to mine, his lips releasing my nipple.

“More. I need more,” I whisper, already missing the sensation of his mouth against me. “Take my jeans off. Please.”

He does as I ask, unbuttoning them while I try – and fail – not to wriggle beneath him. Tugging at the denim, he slides them down my legs, then traces the edges of my panties, like he’s enjoying making me squirm.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs.

“You’re making me wet,” I whisper back.

He gives the softest of laughs. Then he pulls at the edges of the lace, tugging them down my legs.

And I’m bare. On his bed. Looking up at this man who’s staring at me like I’m the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

“Theo?” I whisper.

“Let me look at you for a minute.”

And he does. His eyes roaming. Taking in every curve of my body, like he’s trying to imprint it on his brain. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, an emotion I can’t quite read. I like the way his gaze darkens, though.

“Are you done yet?” I ask when he pauses for too long on my legs.

He laughs again. “You’re so impatient.” But he gets the message anyway, brushing his mouth against mine before he moves his attention back to my neediest places.

He leaves a trail of fire over my nipples, then drags his mouth down to my stomach, sliding down further still, until he’s there.

It’s only when he nips my inner thigh that I realize what he’s doing.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I say, almost panicking at the sudden intimacy. Which I know is stupid but…

“I want to. I’ve been fantasizing about this for days,” he murmurs. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“I do. I just… I know guys don’t like it.”

He stops dead for a moment and frowns at me. “Who says we don’t like it?”