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We’re still in the hallway.
I should care.
I arch my back and press my hips against him, seeking to relieve the pressure building between my legs, and he pulls back, breathing hard as he murmurs, “We’re about to make a scene.”
I bite down on my bottom lip and nod. “I certainly hope so.”
“Cher,” he growls and the sound pumps a fresh flood of desire through my veins. He leans forward to claim my mouth in another crushing kiss.
When he pulls away a second time, his lips a deeper red from his attack on my mouth, my cheeks are raw, stinging from the way his beard scratched against the tender skin.
And I like it. I really do.
Reaching up between us, I trail my fingertips over his jawline. “I like the way this feels.”
Dawson’s eyes narrow for a brief moment. “You seem surprised.”
Lifting my gaze from the stubble beneath my fingertips to meet his intense stare, I struggle to find a response. I am surprised. But is that weird? I’m nearly thirty; shouldn’t I know what a beard feels like?
Because it feels… well, like nothing I imagined it would feel like. I certainly never imagined it could feel this good.
“You’ve never been with a man with a beard.”
A statement, not a question, and one that has my cheeks heating. I bite down on my bottom lip. Am I that obvious?
My ex spent more time staring at his reflection than staring at me. He was clean cut and meticulous, typical generational Hollywood wealth, and the man spent more money on haircuts and eyebrow maintenance than any one person should have a right to.
He waxed his entire body and shaved every morning like clockwork.
Dawson grips my chin firmly to get my attention and I blink myself back to the present, pushing thoughts of Micheal aside.
Eyes intense as they hold mine, Dawson leans forward, intentionally dragging the stubble of his jaw against the soft skin of my cheek until he reaches my ear. I shiver in response to the delicious way my skin tingles in response. With his lips against my ear, he whispers, “It will feel even better between your legs.”
A shudder of anticipation shakes my frame and he chuckles, the sound tightening the knot of desire in my belly deliciously.
“We should probably get inside,” he says as he straightens.
You think?
But words fail me, so all I can do is nod as I watch him peel himself from my body, reach into his pocket, and retrieve that keycard again.
I frown as it occurs to me how massive this hotel is. How far down the hall is his room? How long will I have to wait for more of this delicious man?
Will I even be able to walk with all this pressure between my legs?
Eyes still locked on mine, he reaches past me and waves the keycard in front of the reader on the door directly to my left.
A rush of relief forces a giggle up my throat, so I bring my hand to my mouth and smile behind it.
“What’s got you grinning like a kid on Christmas, angel?”
Ungh. That accent is sex on a stick. “I was worried your room would be far away.”
He shakes his head slowly, then jerks it toward the open doorway. “After you.”
His words bring with them a rush of heat, as I’m reminded of his double entendre earlier. I hurry inside and he follows closely behind, my body intensely aware of his nearness. Stopping inside the foyer, I scan the suite as I wait for his next move. This place is huge. Extravagant.
But the door clicks behind me and then his hands find my hips and nothing, not even the sight of this gorgeous room and the twinkling lights glowing outside below the exterior windows, can hold a candle to what it feels like when Dawson latches on to my hips like this.
