his face.
"Am I still following you?" He asks it like it's a genuine question, but his eyes are teasing.
Hardy har har. Who knew Nick Saint-Croix was such a jokester?
I exhale and tug him from the elevator. He follows me down the hallway without another word, blissfully. When we reach my door I'm shaking as I wave the key card in front of the lock.
I'm not facing him when the door clicks shut behind him, the room dimly lit from the small amount of light coming in from the street below. Behind me I hear Nick set the packages down on the dresser and unzip his jacket. It's possibly the loudest zipper in all of Europe. I unzip mine as I turn to face him, already toeing off my boots as I let my coat drop to the floor.
I'm well aware that I've been in denial about even the idea of having sex with Nick for some time, but now that I'm alone in a hotel room with him I want it now. Right this second. As in I'm likely to tear his clothing off if he's too slow about it. He must like his shirt because it comes off a moment after the jacket clears his arms.
He's tall and lean and I'm thankful for whatever he does in the gym.
My jeans are already around my ankles, one foot impatiently attempting to wiggle free of the material. I nearly trip myself trying to fling them from my ankles but Nick catches me when I start to wobble.
"Relax. I'm not going anywhere, Holly." He breathes the words into my ear and my heart is beating so fast I'm surprised I can hear them. This is the moment. The moment right before good sex. When you're both partly undressed and you know it's going to happen and you know it's going to be good and every nerve in your body is on high alert.
He inches my shirt up my sides with slow precision, his hands lightly skimming against me as the material rises inch by inch.
He's going to kill me. Just the drag of his fingertips is driving me wild. It's like I've never been touched before, and honestly maybe I haven't. Not like this. Not with this degree of anticipation. Not with this level of skill.
He eases my top over my head and drops it to the floor. I expect my bra to be next but instead Nick's fingers are on the elastic in my hair, gently tugging it free from my ponytail until the hair fans around my shoulders. Then, with lips working their way down my neck to my collarbone, he unclasps my bra and slides the straps down my arms. Slowly. Like I'm a present to be carefully unwrapped.
I'm dying and he's moving in slow motion. Examining every inch of me. Soft kisses, gentle caresses. I move my hands to his belt and unfasten his pants with none of the finesse that he's showing. Unsnap, unzip, tug. It doesn't speed him up in the least. He drags a lazy thumb under my chin, tilting my head back so he can lean in for a kiss. In bare feet I come up to his shoulder; I'd need a step stool to reach his lips if he wasn't bending to meet me. Turns out I don't need a stool because Nick lifts me clear off my feet, my legs coming to rest around his hips as he walks me to the bed like we've done this dance before. My nipples brush against his chest hair and I groan into the kiss.
Nick lowers us to the bed, carefully supporting my weight until I'm on the mattress, then sliding over me. His body molds against mine—the curve of my hips, the flat of his stomach. The friction of his skin against mine is more erotic than I'd have thought possible.
"I want these off." I shove at his underwear, my hands sliding under the elastic to palm his ass. I tilt my hips up at the same time to press him against me.
Oh. Oh, my.
"I'm not sure there's room for you at the inn," I whisper.
He blinks, confused by my nonsense but a small smile on his face as if he's amused nonetheless. "What?"
I wrap a hand around the length of him and stroke.
His eyes flare and he hisses out a breath. Good. Maybe it's my turn to drive him a little crazy. To speed things up. I add a twist to my wrist