Page 46 of Hot Under the Collar

She rucked up his shirt and raked a hand along his bare skin as their mouths wove together. Leo growled, low and guttural, like a caged animal. Then in one swift motion, he lifted her, spun her around, and repositioned her on his lap. His erection pressed into the small of her back.

Her knees parted without thought or hesitation and draped over his strong thighs. It surprised her, the way her body opened like it belonged to him. But all she could think was how good this felt already. How safe. How familiar. And in an instant, she realized how wrong she’d been to avoid this. Wrong to push him away. If she’d just let that almost-kiss a year ago bring them back to life, they could’ve had this—more than this—already. Every day. Friend and lover. Then and now. Leo could’ve already been her everything.

“Please,” she begged.

He slipped a hand under her shirt then under her bra, caressing each of her nipples until they stiffened. His other hand traveled the length of her thigh to her knee and back up to her waist, gripping fleece and skin against her hipbone until she gasped, until she couldn’t help but arch into him.

Leo paused, breath ragged, that delicious tingle of heat coiling from his mouth to her ear. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been good.” His voice was thick with frustration. “I’ve been so good, Lynne. You have no idea. But I don’t want to be good anymore. I want to fuck you until neither of us can see straight.” His hand dipped into her sweatpants, toward the junction of her thighs, and teased the soft strip of fuzz just above her slit. “Tell me what you want, Lynne.”

“You,” she blurted out. “I want you. No one’s ever done to me what you did. Any other guy, and I—” Her breath caught as his fingertips started stroking her folds. An intense, sweet burst of pleasure grabbed at her core. Her brain fought against the words, but her mouth confessed them anyway. “I had to imagine it was you just to get off.”

His fingers stilled, his voice a mix of relief and awe. “Really? Every man you’ve been with since?”

She knew what he meant. Not every man. Andrew. Had she wanted him—longed for Leo like this—the whole time she and Andrew had been together? “Yes,” she gasped, “you fucking ruined sex for me.”

She could feel his stubble scrape against her skin as he smiled and whispered, “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He planted a kiss on her shoulder as he charted his hand back down. She was already soaked from grinding against him. But that only made his hand’s slick, confident pressure pool her with more warmth. He stimulated the bare skin of her outer lips with his fingertips. Her hips hitched upward, insistent, until he finally brushed her clit and worked her in slow, devastating circles. All her thoughts dissolved into sensation. When he buried his face into her collarbone and sucked the tender spot just below her ear, she slumped against him, clutching his thick forearm for support.

He slid a finger deep inside of her, letting it curl up as he drew it back. “Oh, fuck,” she whimpered. She was about to lose her goddamn mind.

He added another finger, and together they traced her clit and pushed into her with such skill it was like he’d re-imagined doing this a thousand times, too. They melted into each other, her legs pulling even wider for his touch.

“I want to make you come, right here, against my hand,” he rasped. “Then I want to pull off these little wet panties and make you come against my tongue.” His words coaxed her closer to the edge. She loved how she didn’t have to—couldn’t even—think. Not with Leo in full control. She was weightless. Boneless. Thoughtless for anything except this moment.

“Oh God,” she moaned. She squirmed, but he held her tighter, plunging between her thighs.

“You feel so goddamn good, Lynne. We’re not leaving this apartment until your body gets what it’s been missing. We’re making up for all this lost time.”

Oh fucking hell.

His pace intensified, alternating between fast, feather-light flicks and deep pressure that had her throbbing. Her thighs quivered. It was as if all those years of want were about to burst out of her.

“Oh fuck. Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ,” she babbled.

“Say my name, just like you did back then. I want to hear you say it.”

The word was right there, caught behind her teeth. The same word she’d swallowed back a year ago in the dish room. This time, she was ready to let it loose. Her toes curled. Her mouth parted, Leo’s name on the tip of her tongue.

Then the building’s fire alarm exploded overhead.

19

Leo (Now)

Leo cursed under his breath, one hand still down Lynne’s pants. They’d both frozen in shock, their rhythm broken clean in half. And he was pretty sure at this point that the universe was conspiring against both of them and their libidos.

Lynne bolted from his lap, nearly face-planting onto the coffee table, still dizzy from their unfinished business. But Leo caught her, already on his feet.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” he said over the din of the alarms.

“It’s the bar,” she tried to reassure him. “I told you those false alarms have been happening here, too.”

Leo stood there, fists clenched, every nerve in his body lit up and furious as the sound of the alarm shredded through the air. He’d been seconds away from hearing his name break out of her, something he’d been wanting for years, and now this. “And if it’s not a false alarm this time?” he asked. “We’re going. It’s too dangerous.”

“But the cats. We can’t move that flimsy cat playpen.”

“Grab Fred. I’ll get the rest. Where’s your laundry basket?”