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She felt lightheaded, her face flushed, her body hot.
The sensation was so unfamiliar it had taken her a minute to recognize it for what it was — white-hot lust.
Now she was leading him up the stairs like she did this all the time when she’d never in her life asked a man to come up to her apartment. She’d been living with her dad and Brooke when she’d met Adam. He’d been respectful around her father, solicitous even, and when they’d finally gone to bed it had been at Adam’s apartment.
He’d proposed less than a year later, and she’d moved into his place before the wedding.
The apartment in Harlem was the only place that had ever been all hers — hers and Olivia’s — and she’d been less than interested in dating since her divorce.
She stopped at her door and fumbled with the key, finally worked it into the lock.
The door swung open, and she forced herself to suck in a breath as she stepped inside, Roman at her heels.
She was having trouble breathing with his muscular body so close, was having trouble thinking straight with the scent of his cologne — sage and sun-warmed wood — winding its way around her body.
She set the keys on the table near the door and turned, prepared to offer him tea, a place to sit.
Except that’s not what happened.
There was a moment of stillness between them, less than a second when the world seemed to stop. Then he was stepping toward her at the same time she moved into his arms, some kind of unspoken communication pulling them together like moths to a flame.
Was she the moth or the flame?
His arms slid into her hair, and in that moment, she didn’t care.
His mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue an invading force as he pushed her back against the wall near the door. He swept her mouth with fevered strokes of his tongue, his fingers mapping her face as if it were an unexplored continent.
She couldn’t keep her hands off him. His tongue in her mouth, his hands on her face, his body pressed hard against hers… all of it was a blowtorch to the flame that had been flickering softly between them since the moment in the alley.
Except this was no flicker, it was a full-blown inferno, and she matched the sweep of his tongue with her own, barely aware of the fact that she was undressing him, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, sliding it off his chest and running her hands across the muscled expanse of his sculpted pecs, painted with detailed ink she didn’t have the patience to study.
Her movements seemed to break the dam on the last of his restraint, and he broke their kiss and peeled off her T-shirt, then grabbed her ass and lifted her off her feet.
It was like being held in the arms of a giant oak, and her legs went around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world right before her insecurities went to work on her.
“I’m too heavy!” she gasped.
He growled, pushing her back against the wall, and she gasped when the hard shaft of his cock nestled between her thighs. It was obvious even through their jeans that it was as huge as the rest of him, and a wave of wet heat rushed to her now-throbbing pussy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, using one hand to pull down the lace of her bra. “You’re light as a feather.”
She didn’t have time to protest again. A second later, his hot mouth closed over one of her painfully hard nipples.
“Oh my god,” she moaned, resting her head against the wall at her back.
He lapped and sucked, and she closed her eyes and moved her hips against his cock, grinding to get the friction her body craved through their jeans.
He lifted his head to look at her. “This isn’t tea.”
She opened her eyes, her mind clouded with lust. “Do you want — ”
“We don’t have to do this.” His voice was gentle, but his words were shaded with the anguish of his own hunger. “I don’t want to push you.”
Now she understood: he wasworriedabout her.
“If you stop now, I’ll fucking kill you.” She hadn’t planned this, but no part of her wanted it to stop.
His laughter was dark and he pulled away from the wall, taking her with him, and started through the living room.
