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“You taste delicious, every inch of you is sweet,” he whispered, meaning it.
Then he got serious, exploring her with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. She was whimpering into the pillow. But he knew by the way she arched her spine, lifting herself for him, that she loved every naughty bit of what he was doing to her. She was shaking with it, her body a quivering bowstring of tension and heat. By the time he slid his lips against her warm, wet opening, she was moaning, and when he moved down to tongue her hard clit, she let out a tiny scream.
He doubted she even heard him whisper, “Twelve.” But then, considering he immediately moved up to plunge into her, losing himself in the delights of her body, there was no need to brag.
This was lazy and slow, slippery limbs entwining as he pressed kisses to her neck and her shoulders. And after they climaxed again, she turned in his arms and curled in close, yawning and nuzzling against him like a sleepy cat that had drunk up all the cream and now just wanted a nap.
He stared at her for a while, watching her beautiful face relax in sleep, wondering how it was possible he hadn’t even known she existed twenty-four hours ago. Because, right now, he feared his mind would crack if she walked out the door and he never saw her again.
For a man who’d long ago decided he wasn’t cut out for relationships, the realization stunned him.
Eventually, he drifted off, falling into a heavy sleep, their bodies still glued together. When he next opened his eyes, he was shocked to glance at the bedside clock and see it was after ten. He hadn’t slept this late in years.
“Oh, my,” she said, following his gaze toward the clock. “I guess there won’t be any sneaking out of here at dawn, avoiding that walk of shame through the lobby in my rumpled clothes.”
He frowned, not liking the image for any number of reasons. “Don’t say that. Shame has no part in this.”
“Because I’m shameless?”
He chuckled, letting her get away with keeping things light and sexy. He suspected she’d heard the serious note in his voice and knew he’d been about to insist they give up on the idea of this being some kind of one-night stand.
“Maybe we both are. Maybe that’s what makes us so well matched.”
She licked her lips. “A perfect pair, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“So what’s the next step?”
“I don’t want you to walk out of here.”
“Are you planning to carry me? Because I’m not a lightweight.”
He chuckled. She wasn’t going to give up easily. “I’ve already carried you, remember?” A warm, sultry smile said she did. But it disappeared when he added, “I want you to stay.”
“Indefinitely? The hotel might have other people who want this room at some point.”
“I’ll extend my reservation.”
“What if somebody’s already claimed it?”
“I’ve heard if you don’t leave a hotel room, they can’t kick you out as long as you keep paying.”
She giggled. “I suspect your credit card would max out pretty quickly at these prices.”
He would eventually explain his connection to Black Star, and the fact that he always had a penthouse reserved in any location, but still wasn’t quite ready to bring his money into their relationship. “Maybe.”
“And sooner or later you have to return to...where did you say you’re from? Miami?”
“Yeah,” he admitted with a sigh, not wanting to think about going home. Because the address imprinted on his driver’s license wasn’t home to him in any way, shape or form, and hadn’t been for a long time. Not since his world had been upended by his dad’s death twelve years ago.
Being only eighteen when he’d lost his father, Damien had immediately set out to get away from a home that had lost its heart and soul. If his mother had been cold before, she’d hardened into a piece of ice by that point. But she’d been particularly frigid to Damien. So he’d had to get away. He’d gone to the best schools—all out of state—and had then traveled from city to city, country to country.
He didn’t require a shrink to tell him it had all been an effort to avoid returning to the place so strongly associated with the person he missed most in the world. A place that had been coopted by someone he simply couldn’t get along with—his own mother—and her subsequent succession of husbands. Each relationship proved even more to him that his bloodline just wasn’t capable of true love and lifelong devotion.
So, no. The Miami estate where he’d been raised wasn’t home. It was merely an address. Frankly, living out of this hotel room for a year, with the woman lying beside him, sounded much more appealing than spending a single night in a house he was no longer comfortable in, even if his grandfather’s will had given him full ownership of it. Something else his mother had never forgiven him for.
