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She nods. ‘Maybe. But only because I’ve waited a long time for this.’
My eyes spark with hers. ‘And a few more nights won’t kill you...’
She pulls a face, steps back from me and straightens her jeans. ‘I wouldn’t bank on that.’
CHAPTER THREE
THREE NIGHTS LATER we are back in his penthouse, and I can say with certainty that he was abso-fucking-lutely wrong about one important thing. Waiting has almost killed me. Waiting, longing, yearning.
When he sent me home the other night, it was like I was a grenade with the pin pulled. I have been slowly exploding ever since, the slightest touch an agony. Bras are now my enemy and my salvation—the fabric against my nipples is a form of torture that I frankly love.
But it’s not enough. I need Michael. I don’t want to fuck around with endless foreplay. I’m twenty-three and I want to have sex.
The resolution I’ve formed since leaving his place the other night sits inside my chest like the first flash of a sparkler’s ignition. It hums and buzzes beneath my breast, fizzing life and light into my veins, demanding attention.
I’m not letting him put an end to this again.
I want him. He wants me. No more of this ‘be patient’ bullshit. This is the night I’m going to lose my virginity. He probably doesn’t realise that yet, though.
He loads the balls into the pool triangle with precision and experience, as though it’s an action he’s undertaken thousands of times, and I watch him unashamedly. He’s dressed for work, except he’s shrugged out of his suit jacket at some point and rolled his shirtsleeves up to expose tanned, toned forearms that are doing funny things to my tummy. I’m not sure there’s anything hotter than Michael Brophy in a state of casual undress.
He leans forward and his eyes flicker to mine. Something in his gaze arrests my breath and makes my head spin.
‘You’ve really never played?’
I shake my head.
‘You have missed out on a lot,’ he tsks, and my stomach clenches. He straightens, pushing away from the table and striding around to me slowly, almost sauntering, so I have a few moments to calm my fluttering pulse. It doesn’t help. Standing right in front of me, his eyes scan my face and then drop lower, to the hint of cleavage exposed by the silk camisole I slipped into. Teamed with jeans and stilettos, it felt like a good mix of casual and sexy when I left my house. I’m nothing like the women he usually takes home but he’s looking at me as though I’m the sexiest person he’s ever known.
‘You look...beautiful.’
My pulse races, but I level a droll stare at him. ‘I told you, I don’t need compliments.’
He runs his finger higher, to the base of my throat, his touch just a whisper where my pulse is raging. I want to pick up where we left off. I want him on his knees in front of me. And so much more.
I suck in a shallow, rasping breath. We’re so close that if I lean forward, my nipples will brush his chest and suddenly I ache for that touch. I sway, just enough, and at the moment of contact, sharp bolts of electricity fire through me, hot and pulsing. His eyes show amusement when they meet mine.
‘You’re going to break.’ He reaches behind me and in doing so traps me in a prison of his arms. My breath snags in my throat.
‘Break what?’ I don’t recognise my own voice.
He leans closer, dipping his head forward, buzzing his lips over my temple. I jerk with need. ‘The balls.’ He stands, his smile teasing.
Frustration unfurls inside me. ‘Look, Michael.’ I take his lead, standing up straighter, my stare unflinching. ‘I get that you have a whole thing going on here, but you know I just want to go straight to bed, right?’
His grin deepens; my stomach swoops. ‘You’re so impatient,’ he murmurs, appraising me.
‘So you’ve said,’ I murmur, then sigh. ‘It’s not like this is premature. I’m twenty-three. I’m curious.’
‘Naturally.’ He nods, but makes no effort to touch me. ‘I got this for you.’ He holds out a cue. It makes no sense.
‘Got what for me?’
‘A shorter cue. Mine are all for someone my height, which you’re not. This’ll be easier for you to play with.’
‘Oh.’ I frown, my forehead crinkling. ‘I don’t want to play pool.’
His laugh is throaty. ‘Sure you do. What’ll you drink?’
