Page 69 of The Image of You

I did like to goad them. They pissed me off so much with their attitude.

Ally shook her head. “No, they were. I won’t let them taunt or talk down to you anymore.”

I loosened my tie, pulling at it gratefully. I hated wearing one. “I do it for you. I’ll keep doing it until they crack.”

“They won’t crack. And frankly, I don’t care if they do anymore. I tried. You tried.”

I loved hearing her say those words. To know their opinion was becoming less important. The thought of not having to spend another evening in their stiff company filled me with relief. “You sure?”

“Yes. When you’re home and there’s a benefit, I’d like it if you came with me, though.”

“Absolutely.”

She shifted in the seat. “Then that’s that.”

“We should celebrate.”

She laughed. “The end of your torture?”

“Something like that.”

“What did you have in mind?”

I had the sudden desire to hold her in my arms. “I know a place—great drinks, music, dancing. Can I interest you?”

“I’d love that!”

“Me too.”

For someone who claimed to be clumsy, on the dance floor, Ally came alive. She was perfect in my arms as we glided around the floor. She shimmied and moved to the faster beats like she was born with rhythm in her soul. I loved watching her and regretted not having a camera with me. I used my phone and got a few shots to satisfy my need.

At one point, we swayed to the sultry sound, her pressed close to me.

“I love dancing with you,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over my neck, making me tighten with want.

“They say dancing is like making love upright,” I replied, tightening my hold. “With the right person anyway.”

She tilted back her head. “Am I the right person?”

I kissed her deeply, exploring her sweetness, needing her cinnamon-scented breath inside my mouth. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re mine too, Adam.”

We stumbled into the loft at two o’clock in the morning, after dancing for hours, leaving the tension of the night behind us. I’d left the car parked at the club, and we took a cab home. We made out all the way home in the back seat and in the elevator up to the loft. I could hardly wait to get her naked.

Pieces of our clothes were strewn around the floor as we made our way to the bed. I growled low as I saw the lacy blue lingerie she was wearing under her pretty dress. I planned on peeling it off her smooth skin—with my teeth.

She giggled and I grinned, realizing I’d said that out loud. Then I did exactly that.

I hummed against her breasts, capturing a plump nipple in my mouth. She arched up with a low moan, making me hiss as her movement dragged her wetness along my cock, coating me with her want.

“Fuck. What you do to me,” I groaned as I slid through her heat. I stilled at the completeness of being buried inside her. Every time was like the first, a feeling I never wanted to lose.

She flexed, her body surrounding me.

I thrust slowly, deeply, taking my time with her. These moments were so perfect—joined with her in the most intimate of ways. I rocked leisurely, our bodies melded, skin against skin, never apart. A long shiver ran down my spine at her closeness.

I took her mouth, our tongues sliding, mimicking our bodies. Languid, fluid, deep, and sensuous. I stayed locked inside her intimate embrace until we both shook with the force of release. Until she was limp and sated in my arms. She rested against my chest, idly tracing her finger over my skin.