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Dylan was addictive.
The scrape of his tongue, the way he moved that hard jaw of his... She couldn’t get close enough. Her whole body was flushed, hot, ready.
She felt needy, filled with greed, and some part of her thought that this experiment was going to take a bit longer than planned. Because she could kiss him forever. Calling what he was doingkissingseemed to do it a disservice, in fact. He tasted the way she imagined heroin must feel. An impossible, magical lift, and then a beautiful storm.
And she felt dizzy, but it took her a moment to realize it was because he was moving her, backing her up until something prodded her at the hips.
She pulled away from him, which made her want to cry. But she looked around, and realized they were in a sitting room of some kind. There was the door to one side discreetly marked with an embossed WC. There was the door they’d come in, and then a third with no markings.
“Is this a hotel?”
“After a fashion,” Dylan said, in a perfectly normal voice that was at complete odds with the ferocity in his gaze. The contrast made her skin feel too tight. “These are considered day rooms. They are most properly used for members fighting off jet lag when they come in on one of those early flights. A nice place to have a bit of a sleep, freshen up and then head straight to a business meeting.”
“Are we having a business meeting?” Jenny asked, there where he’d backed her up against a sturdy little antique secretary.
But he only smiled. Like a wolf. And then he was shifting, going down on his knees before her.
And suddenly, she didn’t care what took place in this building. All she could see was Dylan, his eyes blazing and his face set. Hungry. Very nearly feral.
She felt the same. And she wanted to ask him what he was doing, but her mouth was too dry.
Then his hands were on her. He smoothed his way over her hips, then went straight to the fastening of her jeans.
“I’m going to feed you,” he told her, and his voice sounded thicker. Darker. “But first, I need to taste you or I’m not going to make it.”
She wanted to laugh at that, because it seemed like the right thing to do. To make this less intense. Less overwhelming. But he angled a look up at her when he said it, green and hot, and she was terribly afraid she might shatter.
And she didn’t know if she meant she would come—or come apart. Or both.
There was a noise in her ears, some kind of ringing. And maybe that was her breath, heaving in and out of her.
Dylan unbuttoned her jeans, then worked her zipper down.
And she wanted to tell him not to bother. That she’d never cared that much about this thing that all women were supposed to find so delightful. That in her experience, it was always a bit messy and embarrassing. The boyfriends she’d had were always so proud of themselves, so bound and determined to prove something, that she’d felt nothing but enormous pressure to scream and carry on and make out as if she wastransported. When really, a person’s head was between her legs while an endless spiral of anxiety traipsed about in her head—
“Hey. Jenny.”
Dylan’s voice snapped her out of the cycle, and she found his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at her, then. Some kind of charged patience. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking. His hands were busy, even as that gaze of his was still. He tugged her jeans down over her hips, and she would have protested, maybe. But his hands were so big and they skimmed over her legs easily, and it was easier somehow to let him tug one leg free.
And besides, she liked it when he touched her.
His gaze caught hers, almost stern now. “This is for me.”
“What?”
“This is for me,” he told her, and there was that patient thing there in all that green, and a light she didn’t quite understand. “This is whatIneed. All right?”
She nodded, because she couldn’t speak.
“Good.” His mouth seemed stern, then, too—a word she never would have used to describe Dylan. Her Dylan, so funny and happy and bright... But she liked this side of him. Something about that hard line of profoundly male lips and his finely cut jaw made her shudder inside, and her pussy feel wet and swollen. “I want you to think about that, please.”
“Think about what? What you want?”
“I told you I was hungry.”
He smoothed his hands up to her hips again, and pulled one leg wide as he went, making space for himself. He kept going up her thigh, until he reached the edge of the panties she wore.
And when he flicked his gaze to hers again, she understood that both of them were feeling that same wild heat. She waslit upwith it. With him. His palms were against her skin, and as he knelt there, she could feel his breath against the lace that covered her pussy.
