Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,80

it’s not going to work out. Allowing him to put his hands all over me won’t change that.

At a red light, his gaze rages over me like wild fire. “Stop your wriggling, would you?”

The soft command echoes between my thighs. “Or what?” The idea that we have so much to discover about each other’s sexual boundaries makes me light-headed.

The glare he levels me with is unexpected . . . in the best possible way. It’s like he’s pouring kerosene onto the wild fire, easily burning away the last of my will power. Loosening my clamped-together thighs, I very deliberately lower my hand and press a hard circle into my clit through the denim. I groan at the surge of pleasure.

His firm hand wraps around my thigh, pulling with steady pressure to further splay me open, twisting me slightly in my seat. I meet his eyes as he tells me, “I swear to god if you come in my truck . . .”

He’ll what? I’m desperate for him to finish that thought. But I’m not sure he even knows the answer. Is this assertiveness new for him? More desire pools low in my belly.

A horn honks behind us, but he ignores it, continuing to glower, filling the cab with menace. Goosebumps raise along my arms. “Eyes on the road, Scott,” I taunt. “The sooner we get home and all that.”

The horn sounds again. Still we sit here.

I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “Fine, I’ll keep my hands like this.” I interlace the fingers of both hands and rest them in a parody of a kindergartener between my spread legs. “Happy?”

The pressure on my thigh grows tighter for a second. “Not yet,” he grits out, but we finally start moving again.

By the time we find a parking spot, I’m giddy with lust; my nipples are hard and rubbing against the inside of my bra and my panties are wet and clinging.

On the sidewalk with my hand firmly anchored to his, our long strides match, though mine are much more animated than his. He makes an attempt to stop me from swinging our arms and I practically swoon. His need to control the situation bodes very well for me.

When the key to the front door of my building actually turns in the lock, I laugh. “It’s our lucky night.” I throw a smile over my shoulder as we enter the lobby, but his stern expression remains, reflecting just how wound up he is.

As soon as we’re inside my apartment, I find myself pressed up against the wall with his demanding mouth on mine, and his hands all over me, rough and seeking. I meet him head on, riding his thigh, groping his ass, sucking on his tongue. I’ve never wanted a man more.

“I want skin,” I rasp, pushing at his shoulders, trying to create some space between us so I can get at the buttons on his shirt.

“So fucking bossy, aren’t you?” he says before his lips are back on mine, ignoring my request.

I push at his shoulders again, but all that gets me is my wrists encircled and lifted over my head. My attempts to free myself from his grasp fail and nearly short circuit my brain. I’m quickly becoming a moaning, hot mess.

He pulls back, transferring my wrists into one of his big hands and uses the other to caress down my throat to trace along my collar bone then move lower. I love how his eyes follow the movement, but the soft touches are maddening, with no real pressure behind them. I wriggle and push forward into his hand, wanting more.

He leans into my ear. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, slowly increasing the force of his fingers on my breast until he tweaks my nipple through the layers of fabric, making me cry out. “Maybe skin is exactly what we need.”

Gradually, he moves away, releasing my wrists, leaving me panting softly, propped up against the wall. As he works the buttons on his shirt, his eyebrows arch subtly as if to ask me, isn’t this what you wanted?

Fumbling with my own buttons, I undo enough of them to get my blouse over my head and chuck it to the floor. My tank is next, followed by my bra. As we watch each other undress, I revel in the indolent satisfaction of knowing what’s coming.

I brush past him and head for my room.

I barely make it to the hall on the other side of the living area before he’s got me