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We didn’t speak on the drive to his hotel or on the way to his room. We simply held hands, our fingers twined tightly together. And during the climb in the elevator, he watched me, much like he had that first night riding up to that hotel room. But this time I wasn’t trying to hide anything from him. This was me, stripped down to the studs, no walls to protect me.
When the door shut behind us in his room, he flipped the lock and turned to me. Everything was there on his face. He pushed my hair behind my ears, looking at me like he was afraid I wasn’t real, like I’d disintegrate and sift between his fingers like sand. His thumb traced my bottom lip. I shuddered beneath the simple touch, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Then his fingers were tangling in my hair as he bent my head back and brought his mouth down
to mine. His lips were tender at first, gentle—like an innocent first kiss. But when I parted mine and touched my tongue to his, the wall of the dam broke. He banded an arm around my waist and dragged me against him, his tongue twining with mine and his fingers tightening against my scalp. The roughness of it sent sparks racing along my nerve endings, electrifying every point of contact between us. I moaned into the kiss and wrapped my arms around his neck.
God. This. In the loneliness of the last few weeks, I had tried to talk myself out of how good things had felt with Foster, had tried to convince myself that I’d exaggerated it, that my memories were embellished. But having his body pressed against mine, the command of his kiss liquefying every ounce of me, I realized that, if anything, even my most vivid recollections paled to the reality.
He broke away from the kiss, both of us breathless, and put his hands on my shoulders, his gaze flaring with heat. “If you want me to stop, now’s the time to tell me. Because if I keep kissing you, I’m taking you to that bed and not letting you out of it until tomorrow.”
I curled my fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling us together again. “I want this. I want you. And I don’t need some vanilla, PC version. No matter what happens, I would never ask you to change.”
His lips pressed together as he watched me, and something seemed to lift from his expression. Soon, that wicked smile of intent that I loved so much graced his mouth. He slid his hands down my sides, found the hem of my T-shirt and tugged it over my head, then made quick work of my bra. His hands cupped my breasts and teased, cajoling soft, needy sounds from me. “I haven’t been able to think about anything, angel, except you since you left. I’ve tried everything to distract myself, but no matter what, when I close my eyes, there you are.”
He backed me toward the bed, but I put a hand to his chest. “Tried everything to distract yourself or everyone?”
He growled and lifted me off my feet. “Angel, I haven’t even been able to look at another woman. You think I would fuck someone else, then come looking for you?”
“Well, I don’t know—” He tossed me onto the bed and I bounced with an oof.
“You should have more faith in me.” He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged me onto his lap to straddle him. “The only thing that has seen any action is my fist because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, picturing you like this.”
His mouth closed over one of my nipples and pleasure arced through me. I braced my hands on his shoulders and let my head fall back as I imagined him taking himself in his hand, sliding those long fingers over his cock. Damp heat pressed against my cotton panties as he moved to the other breast.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He lifted his head, drawing my attention back to him. “What about you? I won’t hold it against you if you did. I’m the one who pushed you away.”
I frowned. “Wouldn’t hold what against me?”
“If you slept with the dentist,” he said, his tone belying how totally un-okay with it he’d really be about that.
I blanched. “God, Foster, no. Tonight was the first time we even kissed.”
He closed his eyes briefly in a thank-God way, then lifted his lids, his gaze intent. “I wanted to beat the shit out of that guy for even daring to touch you. Took everything I had not to interrupt.”
“He’s a good guy.” I leaned down and kissed his brow. “But he does nothing for me. You”—I grabbed his wrist and brought his hand downward, slipping his warm fingers inside my shorts and panties—“do this to me just by looking my way.”
He groaned as his fingers parted my folds and found wet heat. “I love how fucking bold you’re becoming. So sexy and confident.”
“You make me brave.” I rocked against his hand, the stimulation like sweet fire licking up my body.
He slipped his fingers from my panties and swiped them over my lips, spreading my own taste there, then took my mouth in another heated kiss. I threaded my fingers in his hair and scooted forward, dragging myself along his erection. Everything inside me was already coiling tight. It’d been so long since I’d touched him. I felt starved—each breath, each touch providing the sweet sustenance I’d been craving.
He pulled back from the kiss, his eyes almost black in the soft lamplight of the hotel room. “God, I’ve missed you.”
I brought my hands to his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips. “Every night I’d crawl into bed to try to sleep, but then I’d remember this, you, and my body would go so hot.”
His grip tightened on my thighs. “Did you touch that pretty cunt of yours?”
“Even when I promised myself I wouldn’t,” I admitted, the old flush of embarrassment still rising to the surface at the confession and his crude words.
“Mmm,” he said, the sound rumbling through his chest. “And what did you imagine I was doing to you, my angel?”
I bit my lip but refused to let my bred-in shyness rear its head again. “I imagined rough things, your dominance, you tying me up. My skin would actually tingle when I’d imagine your hand or your flogger coming down on me.”
The look that crossed his face was almost one of anguish. “Christ, Cela, you’re killing me.”
