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For a second our eyes lock.
And then she’s in my arms, and we’re kissing, and I’m grabbing her ass, holding her as close as I can while I grind her against my hard cock. Her hands are in my hair, and she’s moaning my name, and it’s already almost too much, because this isHazel.
I need hernow.
“Why are you so hot? It’s unfair how hot you are,” she says. “Sometimes I see you when you’re at your desk working, and you’re so focused, so in control, I just fantasize about going down on my knees and sucking your dick.”
Jesus.She’s killing me.
“Stop talking,” I say, my hands sliding up under her T-shirt so I can stroke her tits. She lets out a little whimper that slides through me like whiskey. I take her mouth with mine, liking the way she softens and clings to me. The way sheneedsme.
I’m about to drag her inside to my room when Hazel drops to her knees and reaches for my zipper.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“I like talking during sex,” she says matter-of-factly. “I believe in communication.”
“Of course you do,” I say through gritted teeth.
I let her take my cock out and stroke it, andfuckit’s good. Her touch is too tentative, the wrong rhythm, and there’s something about the combination that makes Hazel’s hands on me feel like the sweetest, cruelest tease.
When she tries to take me in her mouth, I stop her out of habit.
It’s not that I don’t like blowjobs. I do.
But I like being in control more.
Hazel’s already tearing me apart. I don’t need to give her any more ammunition.
I pull her to her feet and rearrange myself.
“Hey—”
“I don’t like talking. I like action.” I turn her to face the door and give her a light spank. “Get inside. Now.”
She throws me a mischievous look over her shoulder. And then she grins and races inside.
I follow her inside toward our bedrooms.
When she starts to open her bedroom door, I stop her. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to do this in the guest room. I want her in my bed, in my space. I want to claim her as thoroughly as it is possible to claim someone.
I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom.
“Wow. I forgot you said this used to be the library.” She turns around, taking in the stained-glass window, and the floor to ceiling bookshelves that cover most of the walls. “I like all the dark green, especially with that giant dark wood bed. It makes it feel like a forest. A book forest,” Hazel says.
If my room’s a forest, she’s some kind of nymph, or maybe an enchanted princess. Someone who definitely shouldn’t be here, but now that she is, a dark greed fills me. Like I’m not going to let her leave this room until she gives me everything.
Hazel’s admiring one of the old New York photos I have propped on a bookshelf, when I close the distance between us and strip her T-shirt off.
She gasps and laughs as she twists to face me, surprised. But I’m not done yet.
Sixty seconds later she’s completely bare.
I stare at the lines and curves of her body. She’s sexy, but it’s more than that. She’s graceful and alive in a way that makes me think of art. If this was 200 years ago, men would be begging to immortalize her in marble.
“Your phone’s buzzing,” she says.
I turn it off and toss it aside without looking to see who it is. “Turn yours off too,” I order.
