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I paused, mid-corking, when he came back into the room, his blue shirt now rolled up to the elbows and hanging loose from his jeans. I remember thinking, Clark Layton does casual well… very well. My heart was pounding, my stomach fluttering. “Would you like wine?” I asked, my voice shaky.
He didn’t respond, but I felt him moving, stalking the distance between us. I didn’t dare look at him. I didn’t want him to see on my face that, even though it had only been three days, I’d never felt like this about anyone in my life.
He walked around the kitchen island and took the wine bottle and corkscrew from my hands. He turned my chin so I faced him and lifted my gaze to his. “The only thing I want right now is you, Dayna Cross.”
I didn’t just want him, I needed him. I needed him to be inside me, to fill me, completely. I needed him to sate the ache between my legs.
His hands slid to my hips. He tightened his grip and pulled me against his rock-solid crotch. He ran his fingers through my long hair then leant me back. His mouth pressed to my lobe, my neck, my sternum. The feel of his soft lips against my flesh brought goosebumps to my skin. The kind that tingled every nerve ending in my body. I let my head fall back with a relieved breath.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against my throat. Of course any man would say that at this juncture, but from Clark it felt sincere.
Slowly, painfully slowly, he drew the zip of my dress to the waist and cupped my breast, his thumb rolling down the lace of my bra so he could tease my hardening tip. I groaned under his touch. I’d craved this for three days, my body on edge, lust driving me crazy. We’d connected instantly. He was like me in so many ways, yet a stronger, more masculine version. And really fucking hot. His smile, his scent, his voice, his touch, his taste. He was unlike anyone I’d ever known.
He growled in response to my groan and lifted me with ease to the edge of the marble worktop. When his hands reached my belt, he paused. “Is this what you want?”
It must have been obvious, but he still held back. He still asked. In that moment, I fell a little deeper.
I held his face in my palms. “More than you know,” I whispered. I kissed him, deeply, passionately, with the strength of everything I already felt for him.
He unfastened the belt and freed me of my dress, pushing it gently down my arms, drinking me in as he moved. I’d always felt self-conscious in the past when I got to this stage; I’d always turned off the light or reached for sheets so I’d be hidden. Not now. Now, I felt more confident and womanly than ever.
He ran his hands hungrily down the sides of my body then yanked my hips forwards and pushed his erection between my legs, giving me welcome knowledge of how much he appreciated what he saw.
I hooked my legs around his waist, my stilettos crossing at the small of his back, and pulled him harder to me. God, it felt good to be pressed so tightly to him. He ground against me, a low, rumbling sound escaping his chest and falling into my mouth as he kissed me again, more harshly.
I needed more. I needed to feel him, flesh on flesh. I frantically unbuttoned his shirt as our tongues ravished each other. He unhooked my legs and stepped back, leaving me on the bench. I watched as he removed his shirt, my slick cleft clenching with insatiable desire as I absorbed every perfect inch of what stood before me. He was lean, but his muscles were trained. His veins were prominent against his biceps and in his forearms, his pecs deliciously toned. I followed the short trail of hair down his navel, my focus resting on the bulge in his jeans. I bit my lip in an attempt to quell what was fast becoming uncontrollable excitement.
His hands moved to the buckle of his belt. “Let me,” I said, in a voice so low and husky it didn’t sound like me.
He stepped forwards, and resting his hands on my knees, he pushed my thighs further apart. I took off his belt and undid his jeans. I put my hand inside and cupped him over his tight boxers. He was big and as hard as steel. Gripping him made me want to spread my legs further still, undeniably wanton. My insides were screaming out for him, climbing with just the thought of what would come.
“God, I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name and biting my skin. I want to fuck you all night, Dayna, so if you give yourself to me, don’t ask me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
In one smooth move he unhooked my bra and pulled it from my arms. “Your body is fucking amazing.” He grabbed my breasts and took one in his mouth, sucking the end until I moaned. My back arched, pressing me up to his mouth, begging for more.
“Clark.” His name rolled off my tongue drenched in lust.
He circled his hips against my lace thong as he used one hand to support my back and pressed my chest with the other, forcing me back against the worktop. My breaths came faster as he drew my thong down my legs then lifted my feet, planting my heels down on the bench, fully exposing me to him. Even in my heady stupor, I was thankful I’d been waxed a few days earlier.
I watched through my legs as he knelt. I squirmed when his hands stroked the insides of my thighs. Hoping.
He blew out gently, trailing cool breath down the centre of my folds. I held my arms out, trying to grip something, anything that could anchor me. He turned his finger around my wet entrance, the touch driving me wild. When he pushed two fingers inside me my walls instantly clasped around him, craving more.
“You’re drenched.” His words were husky and so full of promise that I leaned forwards to see him as he put his fingers into his mouth and tasted me. Erotic. As. Hell. “You have no idea how much I want you when you’re looking at me like that.”
He thrust his fingers back into me and bowed his head. His tongue circled my clit, making my mind cloud with my frenzied breaths. He licked and worked me until my hips were gyrating out of rhythm and I felt myself reach the precipice.
“Miss, your snack.”
I jump as the flight attendant holding out a small tray of pastries startles me back to the here and now. “Hmm, excuse me?”
“Your snack.”
“Right. Yes. Thank you.”
Oh my God, this is going to be the birthday from hell.
