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Andrew’s always been a determined, passionate lover, but this feels different. It feels…urgent. Desperate.
I answer his desperation with some of my own, terrified that something this good, this perfect, can’t last. Forget his tie. My hands go straight for his belt, wrangling with his clothing, somehow managing to get his pants and briefs down over his hips as he continues to plant hot kisses all over my chest.
“Guide me,” he says in a low voice, his fingers flexing against my butt. “Take me in.”
His gaze locks on mine, his eyes darkening, as I close my fingers around him. With my other hand I pull my thong to the side.
But instead of guiding him in, I torture us both, slicking the velvety tip of him against the wetness between my legs, forcing him to feel what he does to me.
“Georgiana.”
“Georgie,” I correct, leaning forward to take his bottom lip between my teeth.
Then I position him at my opening, and he takes over, his hips thrusting forward, pushing me against the
wall.
Again. Again. Again.
He kisses me as he fucks me, and our mouths are as greedy as our hands, demanding ever more from the other person. Demanding everything.
Andrew tears his mouth from mine with a gasp. “Come, Georgiana. Come now.”
His rough command undoes me, and my body clenches around him a half second before I cry out, shattering.
He captures my cry with his lips, his own harsh shout mingling with mine as he comes inside me, his shoulders heaving with the strain of holding me up, even as he shudders against me.
When my heartbeat stops feeling like it’s going to gallop out of my chest, I nip his shoulder and wiggle to be let down.
His grip gentles, and I slide down his body until my feet touch the floor.
I swallow. “So.”
Looking completely unembarrassed by what just transpired, he tugs his pants back up and fastens his belt, returning to his usual Andrew Mulroney, Esquire, perfection. “So.”
Feeling an unexpected—and unprecedented—wave of affection, I reach out and cup his cheek. “I like you.”
He reaches out a hand and gently tugs my bra strap back into place, his eyes watching the motion of his fingers as he repays the same gesture on the other side, tidying me up in a way that makes my heart melt. “I like you too.”
“Does this mean you’re going to start calling me by my real name?”
“Georgiana Frances? If you’d like.”
“One day, Andy. One day you will break and call me Georgie,” I say, patting his cheek and then pushing him aside, because this time I really do want the water.
I move to the counter, draining the entire glass in three swallows. He does the same.
“You staying over?” I ask.
“Would you like me to?”
So much. I nod.
His eyes flick toward the living room. “Any chance you’ll let me catch up on the ESPN recap? See the baseball highlights?”
“Depends. Can I cuddle next to you with a bowl of ice cream and talk over the announcer at all the pertinent parts?”
“Depends,” he counters as he heads into the living room, picking up my remote and turning on the TV.
