The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,51
I’m not nervous. I’m too turned on for that.
I ride the elevator to the eighteenth floor and head down the hall to the room. I only manage to knock once before he whips the door open. His fly is undone, and he’s got a condom wrapper dangling from his mouth.
“Not very romantic, I know.” He tears the foil with his teeth and pulls me in by my wrist. “I figured I’d get a head start since we don’t have much time.”
“You got a hotel room?” I ask, tucking my clutch under my arm as the door slams behind me. “Are you insane?”
“You asked me that already, and the answer is still probably.” He hands me the condom, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls my body flush with his. “You have that effect on me.”
“There’s no time for that,” I say, trying to wriggle free.
“For what?”
“Wooing. I’m already here, and the clock is ticking.”
“There’s always time for wooing,” he says, holding me to him. “God, you look so fucking good in this dress. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you.”
“Oh. Are those your eyes I’ve been feeling?”
“Mine and every other man’s in the room.”
“You’re one to talk,” I say. “As if you don’t know how well you clean up.”
“I don’t know,” he teases. “Tell me.”
“You look . . . presentable. It’s a nice change.”
He barks out a laugh and smacks my ass. “You can’t resist messing with me, can you?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Good. Neither can I.” He captures my mouth with a sudden kiss, and though it alarms me how quickly I melt against him, I don’t try to stop it. He works fast, gathering up the long length of my dress until it’s bunched at my hips. Spurred into action and trying to keep up with his frantic kiss, I reach down the front of his pants. With just one touch, I moan into his mouth. “You’re so hard.”
“You have that effect on me,” he repeats. “Put the condom on me, then hold up your dress.”
I push his underwear down just enough to release him and do as he says. I’ve barely grabbed the fabric of my dress when he spins me around. He wraps his arms around my front, pressing his pelvis to me, undeniably solid against my lower back. Walking us forward a few steps into the room, he asks, “What exactly should I do with you?”
“Anything,” I answer breathlessly, “just do it fast.”
The room is predictably lavish with a California King, plush club chairs, and ornate curtains. He stops and bends me over the side of a wooden desk.
“Spread for me, babe,” he says. “Pull your dress up higher.”
I drop my clutch next to me and bare my ass to him. With a throaty noise of approval, he runs both hands up the backs of my thighs. When he reaches the apex, he pulls my thong around my thighs and tests me with his fingers. My thoughts scatter.
“Wet,” is all he says, apparently as engrossed as I am.
He’s reduced me to a puddle within minutes, and I’m barely concerned that I’ve lost any control I might’ve had. “Please.”
He parts my lips with his fingers and presses the head of his cock against me. “I’m going to do this fast,” he warns and plows in all at once, jolting me forward on the desk. I groan as he seats himself there with a few small, firm thrusts, his belt buckle digging into the back of my thigh. He pulls me upright by my biceps, and it’s as if I’ll split in two from having him so deep.
With my back against his front, he says into my ear, “Fast but hard. I’ll fuck you until you can’t feel your legs, Amelia.”
I whimper, a sound I’ve never heard myself make. “Do it.”
“Then, later tonight, I’ll bring you back here,” he releases my arms to cup both my breasts in his large, calloused hands, “and take you so slowly, you’ll beg for fast and hard again.” He moves one hand over my eyes, covering my mouth with the other. Instinctively, I arch my back, pushing myself harder onto him. “I’ll blindfold you with my red tie so you can only guess where I’ll touch you next,” he says. “I’ll love every inch of you. How’s that sound?”
I plead with him against his palm, unintelligible appeals to stop talking and fuck . . . me.
He draws back, then slams into me. When I cry out, he