Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,62
at him. It’s dark in here, there’s no light on, but we left the drapes open on the living room window before we left earlier, and the outside streetlight is casting us in a bluish-white tint. His face is wet, his cheeks flushed and his lips are swollen. His hair is wild, and I swear I still see droplets clinging to his lashes.
He is truly the most gorgeous man. I can’t believe we’re doing this.
I’m so glad we’re doing this.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, his voice low. Gravelly. Delicious.
Slowly I shake my head. “No.”
He reaches between us, his fingers settling on the tie belt that rests at my hip. For long, agonizing seconds he tugs on the end of the fabric, unraveling the bow I tied only a few hours before. It’s a wrap-style dress, meaning it comes completely undone once he unties it, and the fabric parts, revealing me to him. He takes a step back so he can fully take me in, his warm, hungry gaze roving over me, examining everything at once, like he has no idea where to look first.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he observes.
“If I can get away without wearing one, I will. Too restrictive.”
Reaching out, he nudges the fabric away from my bare breasts and cups them in his big hands, his thumbs reaching up to brush against my nipples. Slowly. Back and forth. Putting me in a hypnotic state. “I hate bras. You should never wear them again.”
Smiling, I lean into his hands, my eyes sliding closed when he draws his thumbs and index fingers together to pinch my nipples. It feels good. It also hurts. Is it wrong I like both sensations coursing through me?
“I remember you liking it when I did that.” He pinches them again, harder this time, and I suck in a sharp breath, hissing when I exhale and he still hasn’t let up.
“I liked it when you did a lot of things,” I admit, my voice soft.
I can’t even blame my total honesty on alcohol. I am a hundred percent sober right now. That single glass of wine I had with dinner was hours ago. I noticed Carter really didn’t drink either. Not like we did our one night together, when we could blame our actions on too much wine and not enough common sense.
I have all my senses about me, and I still want this. I want him. He may be feeling low and suffering through his own special midlife crisis, but when it comes to this, he takes control.
And I love it.
Bending his head, he curls his hands around my back and holds me in place as he feasts on first one nipple, then the other. He sucks and licks my tender skin. Gently sinks his teeth into my nipple at first. Hard. Harder, until I’m gasping and squirming in his arms.
“Fuck, you’ve been making me crazy since I saw you at Sweet Dreams that day with my sister,” he admits, nuzzling the valley between my breasts.
I grab hold of his head and lift it up so we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “Please don’t mention your sister right now.”
He chuckles. “Noted.”
We stop talking. He strips me of my dress, then tugs my panties down, causing them to fall around my ankles. I kick them off, along with my sandals, until I’m standing before him completely naked while he’s still completely clothed.
There is something so erotic about standing bare before a fully clothed man. I’m on display. Totally at his mercy. God, just thinking about it leaves me shaky and breathless with want for him.
I gasp when he whips me around so my back is to his front. The couch is directly in front of me and running on pure instinct, I bend over it, my arms gripping the top of the cushions, my right cheek pressed into the soft fabric. He runs his hands down my back, over my ass, between my legs, testing me. I jolt when he makes contact.
“Wet.”
I’m probably dripping, I’m so turned on.
“I could take you like this.”
I close my eyes, my imagination running wild. “Do it.”
The unmistakable sound of rustling clothes hits my ears, and I wait in breathless anticipation as he prepares himself. I can tell he’s pulled a condom out of somewhere—I assume his wallet—and when his jeans fall, his belt making a clanking noise when it hits the ground, a wave of cold air washes over my skin, making me shiver.