Her breath catches, the sound barely audible over the low purr of the engine. “Very complicated,” she agrees, though she makes no move to leave the car. Instead, she leans slightly closer, her eyes dropping to my mouth. “But sometimes complicated is worth it.”
CHAPTER 12
BETSY
My hands shake as I fumble with my keys, the metal clinking against the lock. Conor stands close behind me, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my dress, his breath a gentle caress against my neck.
“Let me,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the keys. The brief contact sends a tingle of electricity up my arm.
I step aside, watching the confident precision of his movements as he unlocks my door. The lock clicks, and he pushes it open, gesturing for me to enter first. My heart hammers against my ribs as I step into the dark foyer. The door closes behind us with a soft thud that feels somehow final, like the period at the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Before I can reach for the light switch, Conor’s hands are on my waist, turning me toward him. In the dim light filtering through my curtains, his eyes are midnight pools, intent and hungry.
“Betsy,” he whispers.
His mouth finds mine in the darkness, tentative at first, then with growing urgency. His lips are soft yet demanding, tasting of cabernet and chocolate, and something uniquely his own. I melt against him, my body arching instinctively into his, my hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair.
The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before delving inside. I make a slight, desperate sound in the back of my throat. My knees weaken, and I feel myself slipping, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight.
Conor’s arms tighten around me, catching me as I sway. “Whoa there,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice rough with desire.
A nervous giggle escapes me, and I press my forehead against his chest, embarrassed by my body’s betrayal. “Sorry,” I whisper. “You literally made me weak in the knees. How cliché is that?”
His fingers lift my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I love that sound,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your laugh. It’s like music.”
Before I can respond, he bends and scoops me into his arms in one fluid motion, his forearms solid beneath my thighs and back. I yelp in surprise, my arms automatically circling his neck, fingers brushing against the soft hair at his nape. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something citrusy—envelops me as my cheek presses against the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“Which way?” he asks, his voice a low rumble I can feel vibrating through my ribs where they’re pressed against his chest.
“Living room,” I manage to say, my lips suddenly dry as I point toward the darkened doorway with its crown molding barely visible in the dim light. “To the left.”
He carries me as if I weigh nothing, his biceps flexing against the silk of my dress. Each step sends a subtle friction between my thighs where his arm supports me. In the living room, city lights spill through the windows, painting his cheekbones in silver as his eyes darken to midnight. The leather couch sighs beneath me, cool and slick against my feverish skin. He hovers above, his breath warm wine against my face, the space between us electric with possibility.
“Second thoughts?” I whisper, my lips tingling in anticipation. His answer comes in the delicious pressure of his body against mine, his weight settling between my parted thighs, the hard planes of his chest meeting the soft curves of mine. His tongue traces the seam of my lips before delving deeper, tasting, claiming. I arch into him, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, feeling each shudder that passes through him when my nails graze his spine. I tug at cotton, desperate for the heat of skin on skin.
Conor groans against my mouth as my nails scrape lightly down his spine, his body shuddering with pleasure. His hands claim me—tangling in my hair to expose my throat, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric, sliding beneath my dress to grip the soft flesh of my hips. We writhe against each other, my thighs parting to cradle the hard ridge of his arousal. His lips leave mine to devour my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point before his tongue soothes the sting. I arch my neck, a moan escaping me when he sucks at the sensitive hollow where my shouldermeets my neck. My dress has ridden up to my waist, revealing the damp lace between my legs. His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you since the moment I saw you.”
His confession sends liquid fire pooling between my thighs. I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers trembling so badly I can barely manage the first one. He covers my hands with his, our fingers tangling as he helps, then shrugs the garment from those broad shoulders. The cotton whispers to the floor, forgotten. His bare chest gleams like carved marble in the moonlight—all hard planes and ridges that make my mouth water. A thin scar curves beneath his left pectoral, somehow making him more perfect, not less. I reach up, unable to resist, my fingertips grazing the warm silk of his skin. I trace the defined cut of his abs, following the tantalizing trail of dark hair that narrows and disappears beneath his waistband like an arrow pointing to paradise. His muscles jump beneath my touch, a small groan escaping his parted lips. He watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with hunger, his breathing harsh and uneven. “Your turn,” he growls, voice rough as sandpaper, as his fingers find the zipper nestled against my spine. He pauses there, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric, waiting for me to surrender.
I nod, lifting slightly to help him slide the zipper down. The dress pools around my waist, exposing my black lace bra. Conor’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, and I resist the urge to cover myself. Devon always mademe feel self-conscious about my body, pointing out imagined flaws. But the reverence in Conor’s gaze makes me feel beautiful, desired.
He lowers his head to press kisses along the swell of my breasts, his stubble a delicious friction against my sensitive skin. When his mouth closes over my nipple through the lace, I cry out, my back arching off the couch. He groans in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.
His clever fingers make quick work of the bra’s clasp, and then it’s gone, joining his shirt on the floor. The cool air makes my nipples tighten further, but then his mouth is there, hot and wet, his tongue circling the sensitive peak before sucking it between his lips. My hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure spirals through me.
He lavishes attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle suction and light grazes of teeth that make me whimper. All the while, his hand strokes up and down my thigh, each pass venturing higher until his fingers brush the edge of my panties.
“May I?” he asks, his voice wrecked with desire.
I nod, beyond words, lifting my hips to help as he slides the scrap of lace down my legs. The vulnerability of being nearly naked while he’s still half-dressed sends a strange thrill through me—not fear, but anticipation.
Conor shifts, kneeling between my legs on the couch. His gaze travels slowly over my body, appreciation evident in every line of his face. When he looks back up at me, there’s a question in his eyes.
“I don’t expect anything more tonight,” he says, histhumbs tracing circles that inch higher on my inner thighs, making my hips lift involuntarily toward his touch. “But God, I need to taste you. And make you come. If you’ll let me.”
His words, spoken in that deep, husky voice, send molten desire pooling between my thighs. My nipples tighten almost painfully as I imagine his hot mouth there, tasting me, devouring me. Devon always rushed through foreplay like a chore, but the hunger in Conor’s eyes promises something else entirely—a feast where I’m the main course. “Yes,” I whisper, my legs falling open wider in shameless invitation, my body already slick and aching for his touch. “God, please... I need your mouth on me.”
