“So…” I said, caressing her cheek with my knuckles. “Wanna come see all your hard work?”
A devilish smile spread on those perfect lips of hers, and then with a brief, hot kiss and a wave of her hand in the air, we were in a cab on our way across town.
Belle
We crashed through Makoa’s condo door like we were bursting into a burning building to save a dozen kittens.
My back hit the wall with a loud thud, stealing my breath just before Makoa’s lips were there taking whatever was left of it. He shut the door behind him with his foot, dropping his still-damp suit jacket on the floor, along with his top hat.
His hands were in my hair next, gripping and tilting, his mouth claiming me with every kiss.
I was perfectly warm, thanks to the massive Moulin Rouge! hoodie Makoa bought for me, but still, I trembled in his arms. Every new kiss elicited a new wave of chills, racing from every point of contact until they covered me head to toe. Makoa was a completely different man with his hands on me. It was like touching me brought out every carnal urge that lived inside him.
It’d only been a little over a week since I met this man, and somehow, it felt like I’d waited a lifetime for this moment.
As if he read my mind, Makoa’s hands snaked under my hoodie, and he groaned when his hands palmed my breasts. “God, do you know how badly I’ve wanted to touch you all night?” He nipped at my bottom lip, trailing a line of kisses down my jaw line, my neck, until his next words were whispers right in the shell of my ear. “These tits, those legs, your perfect fucking mouth — they’re all I’ve thought about for days.”
I moaned when he hiked one of my legs up over his hip, my dress coming with it, pressing his erection into the heat of me. I remembered all too well how firm and thick it felt in my hands, and all I wanted was to free it from the fabric that I’d damned for separating us.
Makoa kissed me again, hard, and I shoved my hands into his chest until he bounded backward. Then, I lifted my hands with a smile. “Take this off.”
Without hesitation, Makoa grabbed the hem of the hoodie and slipped it up over my head. He did the same with the one he wore, and I had about two seconds of appreciation for his Italian suit before I launched myself at him again.
We were a cluster of hands deftly making work of fabric, our lips fused together in a heated, almost hateful kiss. I unbuttoned his vest, he unzipped my dress. I tore open his dress shirt and he pulled every bobby pin from my hair, casting it down in a damp, curly, mess of waves over my shoulders.
“I can’t figure this thing out,” I cursed, yanking at his belt.
“That makes two of us,” he said, panting as he tried to figure out the straps covering the back of my gown.
We exchanged a look, and then for only as long as it took to finish getting undressed, we took our hands off each other.
He watched me with a grin as I pulled at the straps behind me, freeing one shoulder and then the next. My dress fell in a puddle at my feet just as Makoa kicked off his dress shoes and yanked his pants down to his ankles. He stood there in navy blue dress socks and boxer briefs that hugged his thick, tight ass, thighs, and erection in ways that would make a photographer drool and beg for an exclusive shoot.
I stepped out of my dress, but before I could move for my heels, Makoa had me backed into the wall again, my hands over my head, his lips claiming mine.
“Leave those on,” he husked.
His hands trailed down, working my strapless bra off with one easy snap. Makoa backed up then, his eyes drinking me in, and his fingertips cast more chills in their wake as they made their way to my breasts.
“Fuck me,” he said, shaking his head. He palmed them, massaging them as my head fell back against the wall and I leaned into the touch. When he pulled at the nipples, gentle yet firm enough to make them pucker, I let out a little yelp.