arrogant douche. I give my head a shake. “You have your reasons, and I respect them. I respect you.”
She stares at me still, like she’s waiting for me to continue. But that’s all I had to say, so I just stand here and wait. For what, I don’t really know. For her to agree that she has her reasons? Or tell me that she wants me as much as I want her? The second one, if I had to choose. But the reality is that it’s not really my choice.
Instead of speaking, she steps closer to me, closer, until her body is flush with mine. Going up on her tiptoes, she palms my cheek and guides my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft and plush under mine, smooth, and I can’t help the groan that rumbles out of my chest or the way my hands find their way to her hips. But I stop myself from pulling her in tight and grinding my hardening dick into her softness.
I want to, but for all I know, this is just a kiss. Just her promise of an encore fulfilled.
But my groan seems to trip something in her. Her lips part, and it’s her tongue seeking mine out this time, her arms circling my neck as she pulls me as close as she possibly can.
I give her everything she’s asking for, my hands sliding down to her ass to boost her up higher. Her legs clamp on my hips to lever herself up higher, and if this goes on much longer, I’m not going to be able to hold us both up.
Turning, I collapse onto the loveseat, Alexis in my lap. She breaks the kiss long enough to let out a soft chuckle, her breath fanning over my face before she dives back in.
And I’m definitely not going to complain. But I don’t want her to end the kiss before I’m done. My hand palms the back of her head, holding her in place so I can taste every last inch of her mouth.
God, I’ve needed her so bad for so damn long. Sharing this tiny apartment with her, learning her habits, watching her work, getting teased and teasing her back with our escalating lack of clothes—it’s all been building up to this.
When the crowd started calling for us to kiss on stage, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. We’ve been around each other long enough that we act more or less couple-y as it is with our interactions and banter. I make an effort to touch her more in public versus my hands-off approach in private, but otherwise, not much is different.
Except on stage, we’re performing and singing and being professional, so it’s not exactly prime time to make out. I figured I might get the chance for a peck or two, but when they started chanting like that … all bets were off.
And now I’m getting what I’ve been literally dreaming about for ages—Alexis in my lap, grinding on my dick while she kisses me like her life depends on it. Or better yet, like I’m her favorite dessert that she hasn’t had in ages. Desperate, breathy moans escape as the kiss deepens, progresses, until all my awareness is focused on this one single point of contact, on the hungry press of lips and the sweet slide of tongues.
Of course in my dreams, it goes a lot farther. But I’m happy to take what she’ll give me for now. I’m not going to push her, but if this is now an option, she’s not going to be able to hold out for long. Not with the way she’s clawing at my shirt, yanking it up until she has to pull away from my mouth with a whimper while she drags the shirt over my head.
I can’t help the shit-eating grin that comes to my face at the sound of her whimper once my shirt is off. And as much as I love the feel of her lips on mine, I want to taste more of her skin first. I haven’t gotten the chance before now, and if we’re getting topless, then I want to take the opportunity while it’s here.
Skimming my hands up her sides, I gather the shimmery fabric in my hands and pull it over her head, giving her hair that adorably mussed look I love. She was always so polished and primped and put together in her pictures and the first few times I saw her in