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They stepped into the elevator, and as soon as the door closed, they turned to each other and frantically ripped off layers of clothing. Coats went first. Scarves, hats. Bliss’ hair tumbled out of her wedding updo. He ran his hands through the long silky strands, making her sigh.
“I want you naked, but not yet, not in here.”
“I’m glad someone’s thinking clearly,” she gasped.
“Hanging onto a few brain cells, barely.” Granger worked his hands under the skirt of her dress and hoisted her onto his hips. Her flesh warmed under his touch and she arched her back against the side of the elevator.
Her hands were just as busy as his were. She ran her palms up and down his chest, to the buckle of his leather belt. Then lower, where his cock was swelling against the front of his trousers. He’d worn the best pair that he’d packed, a black twill that wasn’t nearly warm enough for this climate. His ass was still cold, but his erection was hot enough for the entire rest of him.
“Granger,” she sighed. “Your body just does something to me. It think it’s your size. You’re so big and hefty. You make me feel anchored.”
Hefty? Whatever.
“Seriously, I could just lick you all over.” She ran her tongue down his neck, then followed that up with a nip along the crook of his shoulder.
“I ain’t going to stop you, that’s for damn sure.” He settled her more closely against his cock. Making sure, again, that she knew what she was getting into. “Might do some licking of my own while we’re at it.”
“I want that.” Her voice came in a silvery whisper just as the door slid open.
They were so caught up in each other that neither moved. The door closed again. The elevator was on the small side; it would probably fit no more than five or six people. It had a carpeted floor and cherrywood wall panels, along with a single wall sconce for lighting.
Her hands were on his pants, working their way past his zipper. She took hold of his cock and he groaned.
“You don’t want your first time to be in a damn elevator, do you?”
“Why not? It’s just like me, always zooming from one place to another. Either this or an airplane would be the perfect metaphor.”
He caught the yearning in her voice. “We’re not aiming for metaphors here. I want you to enjoy this.”
“Does it seem like I’m not enjoying it? Besides, we don’t have to deal with Moses in here. He’s kind of nosy.” She tilted her hips to rub her groin against his erection. The eager movement sent stars to the edges of his vision. Her head rested against the wall panel, her eyes half-closed, face flushed. And still she wore that wild expression, with none of her usual dreamy lack of focus.
Sometimes he forgot that she was the daughter of a rock and roll legend, but not right now. In this moment, it seemed that her inner rocker had been unleashed.
“Bliss,” he murmured as he flexed his hips against her. Somehow his pants had gotten unbuckled and they slid partway down his thighs. Her hands were all over him, his ass, his hipbones, his bulge.
Holding her up the way he was doing, he had no free hands to do all the things he wanted. He bent his head and used his teeth to draw one shoulder strap down, then the other. She wriggled her upper body to get the dress to shimmy down. Her breasts appeared, and her nipples, those two peach-colored drops of perfection. He licked at them, then rubbed his scruffy jaw against one, then the other, giving her the abrasion that had gotten her so hot the last time.
“Oh God,” she gasped as her chest arched like a bow strung tight. “Granger, promise me one thing. I don’t want you to stop. Even if it hurts, I want to keep going.”
“I’m not going to fucking hurt you,” he growled.
“You can go slow. That’s fine. It’s just…I want to do this. I want to do it with you. Now. Right here.”
“In this elevator.”
“In this elevator.”
Got it. “You know what’s a real turn-on?”
“Hm?” Her eyelids fluttered.
“When a woman says what she wants. Hang on, Blondie.”
Sixteen
Bliss had imagined this moment so many times, but none of those fantasies had involved an elevator. Maybe that was why it seemed so perfect. Losing her virginity to Granger in an elevator after a wedding…it was something she never would have predicted, and therefore it had no expectations to live up to.
It didn’t have to be perfect. She was so sick of having to seem perfect. And yet—what could possibly be more perfect than this pleasure flooding her with every touch of Granger’s big body against hers?
