Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,213

when his tongue traced every sensitive part of her mouth, it felt… urgent. As if he were a starving man devouring a meal. Like he was pouring himself into her with every giddy press of his lips. He took her mouth slowly, deliberately, holding her so tight, she swore his fingerprints would be burned into her skin.

She barely registered that they were moving until her back came into contact with the wall. Just like that, she was pinned: cool, smooth plaster behind her, Nate’s hard chest and harder cock in front. He pressed his thick length against her belly and Hannah rocked her hips, desperate for something to ease the heavy pressure between her thighs.

His kisses moved from her mouth to her jaw, her throat, her ear. And in between the hot press of his lips and the glide of his tongue, he growled, “Tell me what you want.”

As if she had any idea right now, with this pulsing need taking over every inch of her body.

“Hannah. Tell me now.”

“Wh-what’s option four?”

He smiled against her skin. “I was hoping we wouldn’t get to option four.”

“Why?”

“Option number four is me fucking you on the floor like an animal. Like I wanted to three weeks ago.”

A cresting wave of desire rolled through her and she shuddered against him. “Why didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Because I can’t take something I don’t think you want to give.”

Hannah swallowed. “That’s what you need? Just… to know what I want? And you’ll give it to me?”

“Yes.” His gaze met hers, so raw and honest, she almost wanted to look away. “I’ll give you anything you want. Always. So, tell me. What do you want, Hannah?”

“The—the chair,” she blurted.

He smiled. “Why am I not surprised? You want control, love?” His hooded gaze met hers, and for a moment she thought she saw… affection?

Stop it. Stop trying to turn this into a fairytale.

“I always want control,” she said.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“You should know.”

“Touché.” He carried her over to the desk, set her down on its smooth surface, and sat in the huge, leather chair in front of her. Her legs dangled on either side of his bent knees. She bit her lip as he reached forward and opened the drawer just to the right of her shin. And then bit it harder as he produced a stack of condoms.

“In your office?” she asked, trying to sound teasing. Her voice came out a little too raw for that. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, a smirk tilting his lips. “Only place in this house with drawers that lock.” And then, his tone barely changing, he ordered calmly, “Take your clothes off.”

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He said it so casually that, for a moment, she didn’t even register the words. But then his meaning sank in, and her cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the need dancing through her veins. “Just like that?” she asked. “Just… take them off?”

“Yes, love.” He stood up and pulled his T-shirt over his head in one move. “Like that,” he said, while she tried not to drool over his chest. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, and then his hands came to the hem of her T-shirt. Slowly, Nate raised the fabric, exposing inch after inch of her flesh to the cool air and the rasp of his calloused palms. “Like this,” he whispered. “Okay?”

She nodded, wetting her lips as he drew the clothing higher. “Okay.”

Once she said that, he moved slightly faster, speeding up, then easing back—as if he were trying not to rush, but failing. She liked that. She liked that a lot. She liked it even more when he finally pulled her T-shirt off completely, groaning as his hungry gaze landed on her bare skin. Nate closed his eyes and sank his teeth into his lower lip. Hard.

Hannah looked down at herself and found everything in its usual place. Not-particularly-pert breasts in their boring, nude bra. Belly as soft and wobbly as ever. Rolls present and correct. She still had those raised, circular little scars from a childhood bout of chicken pox, and she still had…

“A tattoo?” he croaked. “Seriously?”

“What? You have a thousand.”

“I’m me,” he said, sinking to his knees in front of her. “You’re you.” His thumb traced the lines on the right side of her lower belly, the pentagon and the hexagon and the diagonal strokes.

“It’s—”

“Serotonin,” he finished.

She nodded jerkily. She’d never explained it to anyone. And no-one had ever known. “In case I ever need a boost.”

A slight smile