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He rolled his hips against me, and I whimpered.
He pushed up the sweater until I couldn’t see. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be a part of this and to experience every moment. I flipped it over my head and hissed out a shuddering sigh when he unclasped my bra.
“Perfect,” he said around my nipple. His long, sculpted fingers made me feel small and fragile. My skin was honey-toned from the beach, but his was a deep olive hue. No pasty office drone skin for him.
I frowned over that for a moment. All he did was work.
But then he plucked my nipple and twisted lightly, and I forgot how words worked. I was a wide open nerve that sucked up all the pleasure he was dispensing. And I was overflowing with it.
He bent his knees and lowered me to my feet. I grasped his shoulders. “No, don’t stop.”
“I don’t think I could.”
Thirteen
He crouched in front of me and slipped those amazing hands under my skirt. My chest heaved as if I’d run a mile—which I can’t do easily, thanks—and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. That luscious hair had fallen forward and transformed his angular, too-serious face into someone younger. Hungrier.
With the devil in his eyes.
Surely my knees were going to dissolve right then and there.
But no, not yet.
When his fingertips glided up and behind my knees, trailing fire up the backs of my thighs, that’s when all the muscle and bone dissolved. Thank God the glass was behind me, or I would have fallen to the floor.
He tugged my hips away from the glass enough to grip my ass. The street lamps were directly behind me, throwing most of him into shadow. I tipped back my head and let out a strangled moan as his hot breath seared through my skirt. He looked up at me, his eyes glittering between those sinful dark locks.
He watched me unflinchingly. As if he was going to miss something important. When he found the edge of my panties, I shuddered. This was how sex was supposed to be. This delicious anticipation between the wanting and the act.
This is what I’d been missing all of my life.
Blake.
Why did it have to be this man?
He slowly followed the lace edge just under my navel. I sucked back a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Anticipation melted into something so much larger. Want, lust, and attraction were chemical. This seemed so much more than that. A full frontal assault on the senses.
Unforgettable.
Elemental.
Illogical.
The one man who should’ve never had this kind of connection with me was going to destroy me—body and mind.
And I was going to let him.
Because I wanted to feel something. To know I was alive and present in this world. That I wasn’t only my art and the girl clinging to the past.
I was wanted.
By this man.
Even for just a moment in this glass prison of his making.
Fingertips branded my skin as he slowly dragged my panties down until they tangled on my boots. In my head, I wanted to gracefully flick them off, but the reality of my personal situation had my ass superglued to the glass in terror. What if I did this wrong?
Would he know immediately that I was two bumbling steps away from being a virgin?
