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His statement makes me feel simultaneously better and worse. The role-play game was fun, but it was never going to give us a free pass to forget what happened.
Here and now it’s us.
“What happens in the hotel stays in the hotel?” he says with a cheeky smirk.
Boundaries. I’m not sure they’ll work but it’s enough that my rule-loving brain puts a checkmark in that box.
“What happens in the hotel stays in the hotel,” I echo.
“You weren’t ready to leave this morning, were you?” he asks.
I shake my head, biting down on my lip. “Not even a little bit.”
His head dips to mine with a force that makes me gasp. The roughness of his jeans is heaven and hell against my bare thighs, the friction driving me wild.
The kiss is raw, possessive. His tongue claims mine and he tastes of coffee. He backs me up against the sturdy wooden table and his hips pin me in place.
“So good.” The words come out muffled against my throat where his teeth scrape against my skin.
“I want to touch you.” My words trail off into a groan as his lips find the hollow at the base of my throat.
“You’ll touch me when I say you can touch me.” His grin almost melts me on the spot. “I’m going to pay you back for making me wait last night.”
Oh God.Is there anything sexier than a guy in control? Last night I had fun, but I love knowing that Owen can flip the tables on me. He keeps me guessing.
He’s so hard, and the length of him digs into my belly. I’m panting and desperate, my thighs clenching to quiet the sensation that’s gone from an insistent throb to a roaring. “But last night—”
“I’m not pretending to be an anonymous businessman now.” He lowers himself, grasping my wrists and holding my hands in place before setting his lips on my skin. He’s kissing my breasts, gently tugging on my nipples with his teeth. Each little nip makes my knees shake. “I’m me and you’re you.”
I nod, my voice lost. I’m me and he’s him. We’re us. Ourselves...no pretending. It’s risky as hell. But while we’re here, we’re not working the case. It’s a line of separation.
What happens in the hotel stays in the hotel. Or am I clutching at straws?
“Ditch the gown.” Owen releases my hands and steps back.
I shrug one shoulder out of the fluffy robe, and then the other. It slips heavily to the ground. He’s still as a statue, legs grounded in a stance of pure masculinity. One hand rakes through his hair.
Owen whips the hoodie over his head and takes his T-shirt with it. I automatically reach out to him but he catches my hand and spins me around. Bracing my hands against the table, I arch back to press against him.
“What did you say to me last night? Don’t do anything until I explicitly tell you to.” He nips at my ear lobe, his face buried against my hair. “Keep your hands on the table.”
I force myself to breathe slowly. I’ve never had a guy make me feel like this before. He’s controlling the pace, but not in a way that makes me feel inferior. I’m almost relieved. He’s taking the lead, taking the pressure off my shoulders.
Suddenly, my back is cold and the sound of a zipper cuts through the air, followed by the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor. Then warm flesh presses against me from behind. Hot palms skim my thighs, the curve of my butt and my hips.
“Please,” I whimper. “Oh my God, please.”
“Slowly, Anderson. Don’t rush it.” He kisses the back of my neck while he slides his hands all over me, mapping me. Learning me. “Just enjoy.”
How could I not? His hand slides up my front, cupping my breast and thumbing my nipple until I’m sagging against him. My hands curl over the edge of the table, but I’m in serious danger of dissolving onto the ground like a melted ice cube.
“Can I touch you yet?” I need to be active in our lovemaking. If this is the last time I can have him, then I don’t want to be a bystander.
He doesn’t respond but he guides my hands behind my back and down to his cock. The guttural moan tells me he wants it as much as I do. The soft glide of my palm over his steel-hard erection makes me throb.
“I want to look at you.”
“Bossy.” His amused tone makes me smile. “I thought I was in charge.”
