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“Yes! You’re dying for a touch … a kiss … look for it, that’s it. My God, that’s superb chemistry. Superb!”
Daniel spoke in her ear. “Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes.”
“Let me feel them.”
Monica could only hear her heartbeat as he seized her wrists and brought her arms above her and brushed his nose against hers, grazing her lips with his. She let him draw them up and press his chest into her, feeling the soft mounds of her breasts flatten wantonly against him, her nipples pricking into his pecs. She had never been as wet as she was now, this instant, lying in cashmere and Daniel warming her. His lips parted, and she parted hers, eager, needy, everything else forgotten.
He bent his head, their mouths painstakingly close, their hearts thundering. She could remember his powerful presence inside her and every way he stretched and widened her, every way he made her feel.
The rising heat in her body made her breath quicken, made her think of wrapping her legs around him, and she started sliding her feet up his calves, feeling his breath quicken, too. He groaned softly against her. “I could eat you up alive, Monica.”
Oh, God, she really wanted him to. She was restless against him, unable to feel such proximity to him without seeking closer contact. Her voice was barely audible, airless with lust as she discreetly bent to lick the hollow under his neck. “Tell me that you’re hard, too.”
He tensed every muscle, dropping his head. “I’m hard as hell, and it’s all for you.”
Pleasure shot across her nerve endings at his words, making her struggle to stifle a shudder. She tilted her pelvis anxiously upward. “Let me feel you.”
He shifted so his erection nestled at the apex between her legs, and her panties got instantly damp with a surge of wet heat. A shiver of pure feminine delight ran through her, and she closed her eyes and dug her nails into his back, her other hand sliding around him to improve her grip on him, her hip moving timidly up to him, seeking … “What did they tell you to do to me?”
“Wow! Holy guacamole, that is so damned good! That is so damned good! Whate
ver it is, don’t stop!”
“Hold you,” he murmured, and his eyes blazed on her mouth so fiercely that she could remember every one of his kisses from last night, his face stark with need as he gently nudged her pelvis with his. “But I’m primed to do so much more than that.”
She bit back a moan and buried it against his collarbone, smelling him, then she went to his ear. “Will you?”
“What?”
“Do something more to me?”
He groaned and turned to whisper back, his lips bumping her earlobe, curling her toes. “I’ll stop by tonight. To deflower my little Ice Maiden again.”
“Shit, this is crazy! Crazy! All right now look at me past his shoulder, Ms. Davenport, lift your eyes and let me see what’s in them. Yes! Like that!”
Monica pressed her nose into his collarbone, her eyes lifting to the camera, shamelessly looking into the lens as his heat whirled and spun in a dizzying swirl around her. She could almost feel him. Filling her up. Making her feel completed and absolute. Powerless and powerful.
Her nails bit into his flesh as she tried to get closer, her lips pressing to his skin so that she could almost feel her teeth gnaw at him.
“All right, now leave her alone with the cashmere, sir! Don’t lose it, Ms. Davenport. Look at me just like that!” Chris instructed.
Daniel shuddered as he stood, and Monica belatedly realized they had used his sex appeal to their advantage. They’d used her reactions to him to set her loose, and now she lay there, dazed and cloudy, watching him tuck her under the blanket almost like he’d tucked her in her own bed the night before.
She watched helplessly as he grabbed his clothes and stalked around to the back, and suddenly she knew the time from now until tonight would feel like a century. Waiting for tonight would be torture. Tonight was too far away and she was going to disintegrate to ashes if he didn’t touch her before then.
She stared deeply into the camera, anxious to finish, to follow him, to take him in her, in her mouth, in her sex. Yes. I want him. I really, desperately want him. So? was all she thought as she gazed at the camera.
She told that to the lens, to the world, to herself.
A thousand women slept with a thousand men they cared even less about, who were less than friends. Why couldn’t Monica?
Chris screamed, “Yes, that’s it! That is so it!”
She was so hot she was almost perspiring, clutching the cashmere with aching fingers, never in her life having felt like this, staring with eyes that were exposed and open, straight at the camera, feeling both vulnerable and powerful, needy and needed.
When he finally told her it was a “wrap-up,” Monica wound the cashmere around her and tucked it under her arms as she slowly padded to the back, trembling, feeling like her body had been taken over by a stranger, by someone who was starved and didn’t care about anything but gorging on what it wanted. She found him in the changing room. He sat with his elbows to his knees, head hung low, breathing fast.
