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“London, private art sale.”
He’d been in London the week before dinner at his parents’, so a few days after I’d told him I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him.
“Why?” I wondered aloud.
He was quiet. “I thought you might like it.”
“I do like it.” And you, very much—too much.
We entered my room, where his presence dominated the smallish space. I took a deep breath.
“How was the party?” he asked.
“It was okay.” I shrugged. “People read poetry. I had a few drinks.”
“Meet anyone?”
He was standing at the edge of my bed, his eyes intent on my face.
“You already asked that,” I reminded him.
r /> “You didn’t answer,” he pointed out.
I leaned back on the closed door and folded my arms. “Are you really interested, or just making conversation?”
He was silent for a moment. “I kind of am,” he said finally. “I’m kind of excessively interested in what you do with your body considering I spend a good amount of time lusting after it.”
My eyes fluttered closed. My body needed to take a moment before it could function again after hearing something like that.
Actually, Jason, I’m not doing anything with my body apart from wanting you with an obsession that borders on hysteria.
I didn’t say the words in my mind. The silence stretched then he exhaled and looked around the walls of my room. “Where do you want it?” he asked.
My eyes went to the bed. The last time he’d been here, we’d fucked right there. I wondered if he was thinking about that night. I only had to close my eyes to remember what it felt like to have him inside me.
He followed my gaze. Something in my body must have given away the thoughts going on in my mind because whatever signals I was giving, he read them clearly.
He placed the painting on the dresser, his movements slow and deliberate, then he was facing me. “Where do you want it?” he asked again. This time, his voice was rougher, huskier.
On the bed, on the floor, against the wall.
I licked my lips. Time to dispel this notion he had that I had gone right back to having casual sex with strangers when I rejected him. “I haven’t been doing much with my body,” I confessed, my gaze still locked with his.
His eyes narrowed, and he closed the distance between us. He reached where I was standing and curved his hand around my nape, pulling my face toward his and lowering his lips almost to mine.
“Why not?” he asked softly.
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t, because the next moment, his lips crashed into mine, and every cell in my body came alive. All the aching, the need and desire roared to life inside me and exploded in a flame I couldn’t have resisted if I tried. His hands molded me, cupping my breasts then moving down to my waist. He spread his palm over my back and pressed my hips forward, flush against his.
I sighed into his mouth. I could feel the hard length of him straining under his pants and pressing against me. I rocked my hips into him, wanting to feel more.
“Why not?” he asked again.
In reply, I reached for him and pulled his mouth down over mine, tasting his perfect lips and sliding my tongue against his. I was hungry for him and didn’t want to spend the time we had answering questions.
He ended the kiss and pushed my top down over my shoulders, ripping it a bit at the seams. I didn’t care. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and my breasts spilled out into his view. He groaned and cupped them both before flicking the nipples with his thumbs.
“I love your tits,” he growled, pressing them together to suck on both nipples at once. I let out a soft breath as my knees weakened. His touch was everything I wanted, everything I needed.
