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I’d done all of this as kind of a joke, considering our banter, but also because it made me feel wanted and pretty, how Ian reacted when I decked myself out.
It appeared my efforts worked.
Too much.
We both stood immobile, staring at each other, the steam in the room seeming steamier at what was passing between us.
An undeniable pull. A need.
The wave of an obsession neither of us quite realized we were riding until we found ourselves at the crest of it breaking, in that very moment, right there.
“If you take one step toward me,” Ian said in a rough voice that was like a physical touch, “we’re going to be late for cocktails.”
I knew with all that was happening with the people in that house, I should head to the sitting room. We needed to be at cocktails.
I didn’t head to the sitting room.
I took one step to Ian.
He snatched up a towel, wiped the remaining lines of shaving cream off his face, and then he was on me.
We were kissing, lots of tongues, lots of hands, while Ian backed me out of the bathroom.
He had the zip down on my dress in the doorway and we paused just long enough for Ian to shove it over my hips. It fell to my feet, and I stepped out of it, still kissing him as he guided me to the bed.
I tripped over the lip to the dais, and with an arm around my waist, he lifted me up, then I was on my back in the bed with Ian on top of me.
Oh boy, that felt good.
Heaven.
He went up on a straight arm, angling away from me, his eyes devouring my body in my strapless, black lace bra and matching cheeky panties.
His gaze came to mine, dark and hungry.
So fucking hungry.
At the same time, we attacked.
And then it was an out-of-control tussle. I wanted to touch every inch of him. Taste it. He wanted the same. It was consuming. It was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. The bed didn’t exist. His room. The house. The planet.
It was just him and me.
Planting my pump in the duvet and bucking, I managed to turn him to his back, then I straddled him. He tried to push up, but I shoved him back down then went at him with my mouth. His strong jaw that smelled deliciously fresh from his shave. His throat. Collarbone. Down to his nipples.
I’d made it to trace my tongue along the groove of his hip muscle and was tugging at the towel when I cried out because he yanked me up.
I landed in my hands and on my knees over his head.
His hands were on my hips, yanking me down on his mouth.
He sucked on me over my panties then shoved the gusset aside and there was no barrier between his lips and tongue and me.
Oh God.
Oh yes.
I straightened, arched back and rode his mouth, and Lord God, what he could do with it should be illegal.
