Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,53
large hand, he takes off my slipper and starts fitting my sock-clad foot into the boot.
What remains of my brain short-circuits, the feel of his hard, warm fingers on my ankle as erotic as if he’d started sucking on my toes. Oh God, is that a new fantasy of mine? Because all of a sudden, I can’t think of anything I want more than for Marcus to take off my sock and press his lips to my ankle, then trail hot, wet kisses over the top of my foot before—
“Here, give me your other foot,” he murmurs, jolting me out of my depraved daydream, and I blink, a hot flush crawling up my neck as I realize that one boot is already on my foot—and that he put it there.
Feeling like a perverted Cinderella, I blurt out, “I can do that,” and bend down to intercept him as he reaches for my other foot. Except I miscalculate, and my foot comes up just as I’m lowering my head.
With a startled cry, I pitch forward—only to catch myself on Marcus’s broad shoulders. His hands immediately close around my waist, steadying me, and we end up nose to nose, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my lips and smell the faint hint of cool breeze and fresh pine—his aftershave, most likely.
His eyes aren’t just blue, I notice dazedly as he pulls me into a kneeling position next to him. His irises have flecks of silver in them, some light enough to be almost white. They’re beautiful, and the way his pupils are dilating is mesmerizing me, even as growing arousal quickens my breath and floods my sex with liquid warmth.
“Emma.” The soft, deep timbre of his voice vibrates through me, adding to the hypnotic effect as one of his hands leaves my waist to curve around my jaw, the gesture both tender and possessive. Leaning in another inch, he murmurs hoarsely, “Kitten, if you don’t want this, tell me now.”
Yes, tell him. Only my mouth refuses to cooperate, to form the words needed to stop this insanity. Because I do want this. I want it so badly that I ache. I know there are reasons why this is not a good idea, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what they are.
He correctly interprets my silence, and his lips hover next to mine for only a moment longer before pressing against them in a tenderly demanding kiss. His tongue sweeps over the closed seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and I let him in with a soft moan, my eyes closing and my hands fisting in the lapels of his coat as heated pleasure rockets through my body.
Distantly, I hear a pissed-off meow, but it can’t penetrate the sensual fog enveloping my brain. The tension is growing in my core, coiling tighter with each skillful caress of his tongue, and my hands slide up his neck to indulge in the feel of his thick, silky hair. My touch seems to please him, and a groan rumbles low in his throat as he pulls me to my feet and maneuvers us both toward the bed, throwing off his coat and jacket on the way.
There are more outraged meows as the cats jump off the bed, clearing the space for us, and then I’m stretched out on my back, with Marcus over me, his lips devouring mine as his hands roam greedily over my clothed body. One big hand ventures underneath my sweater, the palm hot and rough on my bare skin, and I shudder with pleasure as his fingers close over my left breast, kneading it through my bra with firm pressure. His thumb brushes over my peaked nipple, and I arch into his touch, craving more, needing more.
Needing everything.
This must be what it’s like to be swept away by passion, I realize dimly, even as my hands yank at the knot of his expensive tie, desperate to get it off him so I can tear off his shirt and feel his bare chest. I’ve always thought the swept-away bit was just a poetic turn of phrase, a romantic exaggeration. But that’s precisely how this feels: like an unstoppable wave, a tsunami of sensation over which I have no control. My entire body is on fire, my nipples taut and aching, my clit throbbing as need coils ever tighter in my core.
I don’t know how I manage to get the tie and shirt off him in this