hide it, but there’s a prideful undertone there.
“So, that’s all you got? The presidential suite?”
His face falls slightly, and I want to tease him more, but the sight of his disheveled hair and slightly annoyed expression are too much. He’s the one who looks like a pouty four-year-old now. I kiss his cheek and run a lone finger down his neck, which causes him to wrap his arms around my back as we make our way down the hallway, knocking into walls and falling into each other.
We’re in serious jeopardy of not making it to the room, but he manages to slide the key into the little slot in the lock just as I’m about to make the security guy’s day by ripping my shirt off.
As we stand, joined together, in the center of the enormous suite, he pulls back to look at me before crushing his body into mine.
“Don’t run, Hals. Please.”
I should say something in response. I should say that I need to run. I should just run. But the naked vulnerability of his plea breaks down even my last defenses. I need to be with him, not as someone who’s trying to escape from life, but as someone who wants to throw herself headfirst into it.
He’s tracing my collarbone with his fingers and planting slow kisses down my neck and without warning, he spins me so that I can’t see his face. I’m twisting in his arms, and as he wraps his arms around my back and runs his hands over my chest and waist and jeans, I make a whole series of undignified noises that I forgot could even come out of my mouth. He needs an answer.
“I’ll try not to run. I can’t promise, but I can promise to try.”
“Good enough. For now.”
He twirls me around to face him and his eyes widen as I lift my sweater slowly over my head before unhooking my bra and letting it fall from by body. He stares for a long time, his lips pressed into a tiny line. Afraid I’ve made a monumental mistake, I reach for the sweater. He pushes my hands away roughly.
“Hals, you are so beautiful.”
He says it in one long breath, in the way that tells me that there’s no argument to be made. I don’t want to. I want to feel beautiful. I want to know that I am beautiful. I smile gently at him and place my hands under his shirt and run them up and down, in the way that I know drives him craziest.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“There’s no need to thank me.” He grabs a piece of my hair and grins at me. “At least, there’s no need to thank me with words.”
His hands cover the small of my back, kneading insistently, grabbing at skin. I tremble slightly and kiss him again, needing the warmth of his mouth on mine. I slide myself into the bend of his arm and let him kiss my neck, slow, slow kisses that grow more urgent as I touch more and more of him.
I reach to lift his shirt over his head and as I do, he cups my chin in his hand and exhales a shaky breath. He is so, ridiculous, obscenely, out of control handsome. The intensity of his stare burns my skin and I try to turn my head, embarrassed, but he refuses to let me, instead looking deeply into me, so deep that I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to let go.
He lifts me and I turn my face to his even as he carries me into the bedroom, keeping our eyes locked together. I manage to wrest myself free from his grasp to kiss the little dimple on his cheek that’s only barely visible before moving my head lower to kiss his chest. He wiggles beneath me impatiently, but I’m planning on taking my time.
“Hallie, what are you doing?”
“I’m thanking you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I glance at him with wide eyes and flutter my lashes until he reaches for me and pulls me in for a long kiss.
“Not exactly.”
He lets out another frustrated gasp as I push him back down. I continue my slow caresses, covering every inch of his flawless, golden skin. I reach for the zipper of his jeans and he lifts his hips, ostensibly to offer his help, but I take achingly long minutes, inching the last piece of clothing from his body with deliberate slowness.
I’m starting to regret my newly