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It makes my head spin. “A shame it’s our first time, then.”
His hands dig into my waist, fingers an inch from the undersides of my breasts. “Yes.”
I stroke him one last time through the fabric. Then I push him away and rearrange my dress. My lips feel swollen and when I look down, my nipples are visible through the fabric. “We should leave.”
Victor is staring at me, eyes dark. “Yes. We should.”
“Don’t call Steven. I want us to walk home.”
“Is this your way of getting back at me?” he asks. “For all the times I had you run my errands and handle my calls?”
“Maybe. Would you object if it was?”
In the darkness, and in his tux, Victor looks every bit as dangerous as he does at the negotiating table. The fire in his eyes speaks of battles to conquer.
“No,” he says. “Bring it on.”
16
Cecilia
Victor doesn’t nod to the concierge in the lobby of our apartment building when we get home. He just keeps a hand on my lower back, steering me into the elevator.
He kisses me as soon as the doors close. I grip him tight, burning from the teasing, the taunting. The deliciousness of this man, usually leashed so tight, unwinding for me.
We make it into the hallway and the front door shuts hard behind us. We look at each other. His breath comes fast, wide chest rising and falling.
And I’m lost.
He reaches for me and I step into his arms, back into his kisses. I’d never known it could be like this.
“Victor,” I murmur.
He gives a groan of acknowledgement but doesn’t stop. His hands skim down my dress, finding the smooth curve of my thighs. “Hold on to me.”
I grip his shoulders just in time. Victor lifts me up onto the hallway table. Something brushes past my hip and then glass hits the stone floor with a shatter.
“Oh, no. Our vase.”
Victor sears my neck with kisses, stepping between my legs. They split of their own accord, my knees rising to grip him tight against me. “Whoops.”
I grin. “You’re telling me that wasn’t on purpose?”
“Of course not,” he murmurs. “I keep removing it. You’re the one who puts it back.”
“It annoys you.”
His fingers dig into my thigh. “You like annoying me?”
“Sometimes.”
His lips return to mine, hot and strong. One of his hands smooths up my leg. “This dress is annoying me right now. I have to feel you.”
“God, yes please.”
“Where?” He cups one of my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and with unerring precision, brushes over a nipple. “Here?”
“Uh-huh.”
