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And so, she went when he reached for her.
So she let him wrap his hand around her wrist and tug her gently toward him until she was standing between the deep V of his legs.
So she let him put his other hand under her chin and tilt her face up to his.
She couldn’t see his eyes. He was still in the shadows—they both were now—but that didn’t matter. Not when he was letting go of her wrist so that he could slide his hand from her hip to her waist to the sensitive spot on her lower back. And definitely not when he slid his fingers under her shirt and tickled the delicate skin of her back before dipping them slowly, inexorably, beneath the waistband of her jeans.
She knew she should protest, knew she should step back—she didn’t know this guy at all—but his words echoed inside of her. Slammed up against her own walls and all the things she kept hidden deep inside of herself.
Which was why, instead of protesting, she let him. Hell, she nearly begged him to do it, her head falling back to bare her neck to him even as her lower body arched against his.
He accepted the invitation, a dark, rumbly sound coming from his chest as he leaned down and pressed his lips against her collarbone. It felt so good. He felt so good, and it had been so long since she’d done this. So long since she’d given in—to a man or to this side of herself.
Sparks of desire caught fire inside of her at the first touch of his mouth, making her wet. Making her need. And that was before he licked his way to the hollow of her throat.
Before he trailed hot kisses up the side of her neck to the delicate spot behind her ear.
Before he nibbled softly at her earlobe, his breath hot and moist against her skin.
She gasped then, at the pain and the pleasure of it, her hands clutching at him as she arched her back. Offered him more. Demanded more.
“I like that sound,” he murmured, nipping sharply at her ear before lowering his mouth back to the point where her neck met her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can get you to make it again.”
She was so, so, so totally on board with that plan. Especially when he started licking at the sensitive bend, his mouth hot and soft and just a little bit wet as he sucked her skin between his teeth and gently bit down.
This time the sound she made was more moan than gasp—half arousal, half pained denial—and he laughed a little at her response, a stark, sexy sound that only made her wetter…and more desperate.
She pulled at him then, sliding her hands into his shaggy blond hair and tugging, hard. She wanted—needed—to know what those lips felt like pressed against hers.
He wouldn’t give in, though. Wouldn’t give her what she wanted.
Instead he teased her until she gasped. Until she whimpered. Until she begged. For his mouth. For his touch. For the release she could feel building inside of her from just the press of his mouth on her skin. From just the tangle of his fingers in her hair.
And then he was turning her, turning them. Pressing her back up against the wall and dropping to his knees in front of her.
Before she could even assimilate that, his mouth was on her breast, his teeth biting gently at her nipple through the thin layers of her T-shirt and bra.
“Please,” she gasped, fingers grabbing on to his shoulders to steady herself. “Oh God. Please.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he told her as he unbuttoned her jeans, slid his hand inside. “I’ve got you.”
As he lifted his mouth from her breast she remembered for a second, just one second, where she was. Remembered what she was there for and all the reasons why this was a really bad idea.
But then his thumb was on her clit, his fingers stroking along her sex, and the only thing she could think about was how good it felt. How good he felt.
She’d been so focused on her career—on proving herself—that it had been too long since she’d made love, too long since she’d had any part of a man inside of her. And the men she had had through the years—all three of them—had never made her feel like this. Had never even come close.
“Where’d you go?” he asked, pressing his mouth against her navel.
She opened her mouth to answer, to tell him she was right there, but before the words could form he was tugging her jeans down her hips, spreading her legs as far as the tight fabric would let him. And then he was leaning forward, burying his face in her sex, delivering one long, slow lick to her clit.
She whimpered, her body arching against him. Her fingers clutching at—tangling in—the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Her knees trembling.
He laughed a little at the breathless sounds she couldn’t stop herself from making, his tongue running back and forth against her slit over and over again, dipping inside just enough to make her crazy, licking her labia just firmly enough to have her gasping for breath and arching her hips against his face.
“Please,” she pleaded, and any other time she’d be embarrassed by how desperate she sounded. How needy. Right now, though, all she could think about was his tongue—his wicked, wild, wonderful tongue—and how good it felt. How good he was making her feel. And how close she was. “Please, please, please—”
“You want to come, baby?” he asked, his voice nothing but gravel.
