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It takes me a moment to reach into my back pocket and grab the key card. When I turn around, he is looking at me like he wants to say something, yet he doesn’t. Again, he watches me, studies me like a puzzle he can’t seem to put together.
I have never been an insecure woman, not until now. Not until I stand at his feet and at his grandeur. He makes me feel like I should bow down to him. Hell, I want to be on my knees for him, something I have never wanted before.
“I’m not crazy,” I whisper to myself, to him.
He takes the key from my hand and starts stalking toward my room.
Confused, I catch up to him as he stands at the door. He looks at the key, then the door, and then sticks it in and tries to open it.
“You have to take it out before opening,” I tell him, reaching for the key, but I get his hand instead.
That noise, the growl, the rumble, the sound that calls to every butterfly in my belly brings them to life.
As he finally pushes the door open, I look up.
“Fuck it,” he sneers before he crashes his mouth down on mine.
I part my lips, and his rumble intensifies. Before he has a chance to shove his tongue in my mouth, I do it to him. He tenses as I rub mine along his. Then his overtakes mine as he grabs my face and pulls me closer, his rough hands anything but soft against my face.
Needy, strong licks up and down my tongue. The noises coming from him are intoxicating. I crave more, so I fist his shirt, but that makes him pull back to look down into my eyes, and then at my hands.
When I pull them back, he grips both of them in his mammoth one and asks, “Is this what you’re looking for?”
I open my mouth to answer him, but no words come out.
“Is this what you want?”
I nod slowly as I look back and forth at both his eyes. The look in them is wild with want, desire, confusion.
“And what you wrote; is that what you want?”
I swallow down the thick desire in my throat, hoping I can speak when I try.
“Answer me, Tatum Longley.” He grips tighter.
My name has never sounded better, causing my insides to liquefy.
“Are you here to write a story about me?”
His question confuses me, and by his reaction, I can tell he knows I’m baffled.
I shake my head no.
“If I leave now, are you gonna find someone else to fuck you?”
I’m speechless. He says fuck like he says my name. It’s almost too much.
Without waiting for my answer, he turns and walks toward the bed, dragging me behind him, his ass flexing in his workout pants as he walks. Then he stops and turns to face me. Both my hands are again in his as he walks me backward until my knees hit the back of the bed.
My heart is beating against my chest so hard I’m sure it will explode at any second.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders as he releases my hands.
I know now is the time to find my voice of reason, but desire trumps reason. My body wants him so badly that I ignore my head, my voice, my morals. Instead, I pull my wet shirt off, watching his eyes widen. Then I push down my pants and step out of them.
A hum vibrates from him, and I see his pants tighten as he grows thicker and longer with his own need.
“Lay down and show me what you wrote, what I want.”
I feel my face instantly heat up. “I... I... can’t.”
“Show me now, Tatum.”
I grab his shirt and pull him down to me. “Kiss me like that again. Please, Kid.”
“Angelo,” he corrects.
I’m intrigued by his name. “Please, Angelo.”
He kisses me hard as he leans down and pushes me back. His lips are open as he pushes his tongue into my mouth and licks mine slowly but firmly. I open wider for him as I push my hands up his shirt. He groans and reaches between us, never breaking the connection of our kiss as he lifts my hands from his body to above my head and tastes me deeper.
With his knee between my legs, I want to rub against it, needing friction. I am on fire, burning, desperate for a connection. I thrust upward, rubbing against his erection, then cry out when he immediately pulls back.
Concern shows in his eyes, and I beg, “Please.”
“Please what?” he asks, moving away.
“Please don’t stop.” I hate that I sound the way I do—needy, desperate—but he makes me this way.
He lays on his side and takes my hand. My confusion, concern, and hunger mirror in his eyes.
“Show me. Show me what you wrote.” He smoothly moves my hand down my abdomen and under my panties. “Show. Me,” he demands, and I do.
