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I grin and turn my back to him, pulling his gorgeous arms around my waist. He nuzzles my hair and chuckles.
“We’ll wait until you’re decent. Mine might be fragrant, but yours is scandalous.”
“I can see how red your face is even in here,” he groans. “Fucking hell, Mirabelle. I need you so much.”
He grasps my braless tits over my t-shirt and his touch makes me moan loudly. That time, someone does look over their shoulder—but thankfully, Albie’s hands shift to my waist before anyone catches sight of him fondling my breasts.
Albie laughs darkly right into my ear as the other patron tuts and shakes their head. “Five minutes, and we’re outta here.”
Chapter Eight
Impatient, he hailed a cab outside the cinema and that’s how we got home so quickly. Now that we’re here, I can barely make my fingers function enough to work the key into the lock of my flat. It’s those alarm bells ringing again.
You won’t be the same after this, but it’ll be easy enough for him to walk away.
He’s the one with all the power. You’ve got none. He knows how you feel.
For him, this is just a passing whimsy.
“Jesus Christ, Mira. Let me,” he eventually says, yanking the keys from my hands. “Before one or both of us pops a blood vessel.”
Yet as he tries to get it in the lock, I notice his hands are shaking too. He has the wherewithal however to grab the key with both hands and somehow masters the plunge, then the turn of the key in the lock.
Fucking hell!
We pour through the door and he kicks it shut.
Then it’s like we’re a tornado ripping through the place, knocking over books and picture frames, shoes getting tossed, hips and elbows knocking into bits of furniture.
We land against a wall, him with his back to it, me with my back to him. He has his hands under my shirt and around my breasts, and he lets go of a strangled cry as I reach back and rub my hand over his substantial length.
“You got any condoms?” he says, ragged.
“A few.”
“Do you want me to wear one?” His heart is thwacking against my back. I already feel naked and haven’t taken off one item of clothing yet.
“Yes. Unless…”
He grunts in my ear, then teases his teeth against my throat. “I always wear a rubber, Mira.”
“I know. I buy you them.”
“We should only do it bareback when we’re married.” He opens my button, pulls down my zip and teases his fingers against the black lace of my thong.
“When we’re married?” I demand, shocked.
“I’m a gentleman. I’m not going to risk it… not unless we’re married.”
I turn and rip open the poppers on his shirt, pushing it off his body. Those sleek hips and narrow waist make my vision blur. He nearly knocks me over ripping off my shirt and all there is after that is feasting. His lips suckling, his teeth gently nibbling, his hands all over me… my hands and mouth all over him.
We make it to the bedroom and I’m thrown across the bed. He grabs the bottom of my trouser leg and yanks, then gets the other, dragging my jeans off in his haste. I’m nearly naked while he’s still wearing his jeans, though he’s unbuttoned the top and I can see the tip of his penis poking out. God, he’s thick.
He kneels at the edge of the bed and throws my legs around his shoulders. I’m undulating already, my insides roaring like a furnace and my slit dripping with arousal. The thought of him seeing me like this, when it’s never been like this before…
He kisses my ankle and a tidal wave of desire surges through me, making me throw my hips up off the bed.
“Easy, Mira. I’ve got you, baby.”
