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He frowned.
She raised her eyebrows, as if expecting him to say something, and then laughed. “Oh, you meant flip-flops, didn’t you?”
“Ah, I see.” He grinned. “Yeah, flip-flops.” Balls growing heavy, he closed the small distance between them, planted his hands on the wall either side of her head, and pressed his hips to her. “And for what it’s worth—” he lowered his head until their foreheads touched, “—I’m a commando kinda guy.”
She let out a soft groan, snaked her arms around his neck, and rolled her hips into his, pressing the soft curve of her sex to his hard-on. “Even better,” she whispered, before capturing his lips with hers.
Her tongue lashed against his, and he groaned, grabbing her arse, squeezing it through the still-wet onesie.
She buried her hands in his hair and deepened the kiss, driving him wild with her tongue before nipping his bottom lip with her teeth.
Hot shards of liquid lust stabbed into his body, sinking into his groin. He snared her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head, holding them there as he took control of the kiss, losing himself in her uninhibited response.
Fuck, she’s amazing.
She rolled her hips again, grinding against his engorged cock, detonating fresh hunger in his body even as the front of his shorts grew damp from her costume.
Tearing his lips from hers, he gazed down into her eyes, his breath choppy. “I need to get you out of these damp clothes.”
She arched an eyebrow, her breath as shallow and shaky as his. “You do. But that won’t stop me being wet.”
He chuckled, the sound part needful groan, and kissed her again, hungry for everything she was.
She moaned with approval, her lips and tongue as impatient and demanding as his. When he dragged his mouth from hers, charting a path along her jawline and up to her ear, she let out a ragged whimper. When he caught her earlobe with his teeth, she pushed her hips forward once more. “Fuck yes,” she ground out, rolling her head to the side.
He left her earlobe and explored the side of her neck, nipping gently.
“Oh yeah,” she repeated, the words a husky groan.
He journeyed back to her mouth, capturing it, exploring it.
She matched his urgency, and his head swam, a wave of giddy pressure rolling over him. His heart thumped faster, up into his throat, his ears. He broke the kiss again, studying her upturned face, reveling in the pleasure on it.
“Let’s get the fuck inside,” she whispered.
Releasing her wrists, he sucked in a slow breath. Getting inside was a good idea.
“Unless you want to fuck out here?” she said, sliding her fingertips down over the stingray to settle on the button of his fly. “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer to feel you moving inside me.”
His head swam again. His breath quickened.
Entirely the same sensation before he’d blacked out at school, and yet entirely different. God, was it possible to be so turned on you could pass out?
“Lead the way,” he murmured.
Gaze holding his, she took his right hand, turned, and walked into the lobby.
They lasted five seconds in the elevator before he slammed her to the wall and kissed her, hands roaming her throat, her butt, tangling in her hair.
She’d barely yanked open his fly’s button when the elevator came to a halt, the door opening with a soft chime.
“Oh my goodness,” a surprised female voice uttered.
He tore his lips from Bria’s, finding a woman possibly in her sixties, maybe her seventies, dressed as Dorothy from Oz gaping at them from the eighteenth floor’s landing.
Laughing, Bria grabbed his hand and dragged him from elevator. “Sorry, Mrs. Benchley.”
“G’day,” he mumbled, with a tip of his head as he passed the now-smiling Dorothy. “Happy Halloween.”
Bria laughed again and lengthened her stride. She pulled him along the corridor behind her and stopped at a door with a fake spiderweb draped over its frame. She pulled a set of keys from the same pocket as her phone and slid one into the lock. “Ready?”
