God, God, he was beautiful.
Another knock. Impatient.
I jumped, unlocked the deadbolt, the twist lock on the knob and slid off and dropped the chain. Then I put my hand to the knob to turn it but it was turning in my hand already.
I jumped back when the door opened and Knight surged through.
I looked up at his face, seeing instant and extreme intensity and whispered, “Honey, is everything oh –?”
I got no further. This was because his hands were cupping my jaws and pulling me firmly up until I was on my toes at the same time his head was descending.
Then his mouth slammed down on mine.
I made a noise at the back of my throat, lifted my hands and curled my fingers into the lapel of his jacket.
His tongue darted out against my lips.
My mouth opened and it swept inside.
Oh my, he tasted good.
I whimpered, held his lapels tight as my legs got weak and my body swayed into him.
His tongue plundered my mouth and there was no other word for it. That was it, plundered. And he did this delicious activity in a kiss that was very wet, very hard, very long, very demanding and very, very amazing.
So much so, I whimpered into his mouth, one hand detaching from his lapel to slide up swiftly, around the warm, sleek skin of his neck and into the soft, thick mess of his hair. I pressed my torso deep into his as best as I could, still holding onto his jacket with his hands at my jaw.
And I gave myself to the kiss. To Knight. All of me cupped in his hands. All of me plundered by his talented tongue.
He tore his mouth from mine and I made a mew of protest because I didn’t want to lose it. It had become the reason for my being. It was existence. At the same time my fingers spasmed in his hair and I pushed even closer in a nonverbal effort to share this message.
I felt his warm breath on my lips, it was coming fast and my eyes slowly opened to look into Knight’s dark, hungry ones.
“Now I’ve kissed you, babe, feel better?” he asked, his voice rough and so… fucking… beautiful.
I wanted to laugh because it was funny. It was also sweet.
But I couldn’t.
I could only hold on and breathe, “Yes.”
His eyes moved over my face and darkened, that intensity corresponding with the intensity of the wetness gathering between my legs and he asked, “Like the dresses?”
“Yes,” I repeated breathily.
“Good,” he whispered then, still in a whisper, “Gotta get back, babe.”
I blinked and my hand spasmed in his hair again.
“What?”
“Work, Anya. I got shit to do. Didn’t have time, took it to get your gratitude now I gotta get back.”
I didn’t move, held on and held his eyes.
He let me for a long happy moment before muttering, “My baby doesn’t want me to leave.”
No. I didn’t.