that we both loved. “How did … her stuff is wicked expensive.” I glanced at him and saw his face darken.
“She was a friend of mine. It was a gift.”
He stepped closer, coming to stand beside me, my hand still outstretched toward the bare canvas. A Presa Little original. A six-figure piece, easy. And from behind him, in the hall that probably led to his bedroom, another one, midnight blue swirls of ocean—
I stopped thinking about the painting or my keys, because right then he pulled me around, closing the gap between us and pressing me gently to the wall, my hair against a painting that could buy me a future. “Are you sure you lost your keys,” he grumbled, “or did you wake me up for something else?”
I put my hands where I’d wanted to for the last ten minutes, sliding them down the bumps of his abs and over the line of his hips, hooking my fingers underneath the waist of his pajama pants. “Both?” I whispered.
There was a moment of silence, his eyes on mine. They were wary, as if he didn’t trust me. And hungry, as if he was fighting just to keep away. I stared up at him, my breath catching in my throat, and begged him for more with my gaze. He sighed, his eyes falling to my mouth, and I felt the moment he gave in, his head lowering, his lips pressing to mine.
Instantly, I could taste his need, his want. It was in every stroke of his tongue, the growl in his throat, his hot hands rough on my skin. My hands went further, underneath his pajama pants, and slid around, gripping his hard ass. His hands wrapped around my waist, picking me up and he carried me to the wooden table, setting me on its surface, his hands busy as they yanked my shirtdress out from underneath my butt and pulled the fabric up and over my head. Then he laid me back, our kiss continuing, a deep feast of starved souls. And I was. In the last year, every kiss I’d received had been a taunt, a tease, or a mind fuck. I hadn’t been really kissed, or touched, or desired in so long. And there, in his apartment, his hands hot on my skin, his mouth feverish against mine … it was as if I were experiencing everything for the first time.
His fingers slid under my bra strap and pulled it down.
His lips moved off my mouth and trailed down my neck, sucking on a spot on my collarbone, his fingers sliding gently down, over my panties, my knees lifting up, feet hooking around his back and pulling him closer.
I felt every single one of his fingers as they brushed in between my legs, and I shuddered, his mouth pausing, head lifting to look at me. “You okay?” he asked. I reached down and pushed his hand back. “Don’t stop,” I gasped. His fingers moved, gently circling, teasing, getting closer and closer until one brushed over my clit, the silk of my panties providing the perfect barrier, my hips all but exploding off the table. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “Carter.”
His mouth, a hot, wet place of perfection, left my neck and moved up, his eyes careful and concerned, watching my face as his touch moved, his eyes darkening when he saw me reach the edge. “Don’t stop,” I begged.
“Don’t worry,” he said, lowering his head and biting gently on my neck. “Take your time,” he whispered, and I whimpered as his mouth trailed lower, skipping along my skin, a quick scrape of his teeth across my stomach, the intensity building, every sensor in my body tuned to and focused on his fingers. God, this was with my panties on. What would it be like when I was naked? When it was his cock and not his fingers? When he was inside me and pushing deeper, his hands holding me close, his…
“Oh my God, I’m—”
“Not yet,” he growled, and his hand ripped at my panties, pulling them down, and his hot mouth was suddenly where his fingers had been, his hands on me, holding me down as he explored me with his mouth, his tongue light and constant as it played across my clit then dipped lower and deeper. The man had no fear, no hesitation, and I dug my hands in his hair as I tried to stay in control, tried to stay coherent. The sensation … it