Текст книги "Sinful Longing"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Michael had determination on his side, but Colin possessed that too, along with a more potent dose of fearlessness. Sometimes fearless meant you were faster on a downhill. Tonight, with the sun sinking low on the horizon, the time on the bike was therapy—it was necessary to shed the frustrations he felt over Elle, but also the guilt he still harbored over his mistakes as a kid. Riding a rocky downhill required extreme concentration, and the rattle and hum of the wheels on the ground had forced everything else from his brain, narrowing his focus to only the bike and the trail, and besting his brother.
Michael rolled up next to him, stopping his bike.
“Streak’s still intact,” Colin said, his breath coming fast as he wheeled to the water fountain at the base of the hill. “I continue to reign supreme on two wheels.”
“Watch it. You’re lucky I still ride with you,” Michael teased, as he unsnapped his helmet.
After a drink of water, Colin let the therapy continue, this time with words. Because he wasn’t done. The silt on the riverbed of the past had been well and truly stirred up tonight. “Michael,” he said, stripping away the macho bravado. “I still feel like shit for being friends with those guys.”
His brother got off his bike, resting his palm on the seat. “You’re not responsible. Your friendship played no role in the murder.”
“But what if I hadn’t been friends with Paul? What if I’d never known them? Would things be different?” he asked, letting the question hang in the air.
Michael dropped a hand to Colin’s shoulder. “Forget the ‘what if.’ Focus on the real. And that’s this: she didn’t find Stefano through you,” he said, his voice firm and clear. “She found Stefano on her own. She found those others on her own. Hell, for all we know she might have found them through her lover. The one thing I know for certain is she didn’t find them through you being buddies with T.J’s little bro when you were twelve and thirteen. That is not how it happened. But even if it had, for the sake of argument, let me ask you this. Who arranged for the murder?”
“She did,” he said softly.
“Who hired Stefano?”
“She did.” His voice picked up volume.
“Who planned a murder?”
“She did.” His tone was strong and certain now.
“Exactly,” Michael said, bending to the water fountain and gulping up a stream. As he rose, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“But I’ve made the same mistakes she made,” Colin said quietly, guilt stitched into his voice, into his goddamn heart and soul. Most days, he didn’t beat himself up. But some days, he did. Some days he was consumed with the emotion.
Michael raised a finger and pointed it at Colin. “You didn’t do what she did. You made mistakes that are fucking forgivable. You made mistakes that hurt yourself. You made mistakes that a human being makes. You did not kill a man. You are not like her.”
Colin pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and exhaled, visualizing letting go of all this guilt.
Soon, soon, he had to say good-bye to it.
“Speaking of what ifs, have you ever heard from your ‘what if’ girl?” Colin asked as they loaded their bikes on the roof rack a few minutes later.
Michael shook his head. “Not lately. That’s why she’s a ‘what if’ girl.”
As they left, Colin asked himself if he’d be happy letting Elle become a ‘what if’ girl.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Big dots of primary-colored light swirled in a speed race across the slick hardwood floors, as the music of the B-52s pulsed throughout the rink.
“All right, my crazy skaters, I want to see how excited you get when you go to the looooooooove shack.” The directive came from Elle’s sister Camille. Mic at her mouth, she worked up the crowds at the Skyway Roller Rink, where she was the manager.
A flurry of teens, sprinkled with a few moms and the regular crew of older skaters who still rocked out on the quads nearly every night, motored around the oval, picking up the pace to the popular skating tune. The song was an appropriate number for the conversation Elle needed to have with her little sister, considering Elle and Colin were having a “Love Shack” kind of relationship.
The getaway kind. The sneak-off-and-get together kind.
Or was it more accurate to say they’d had that kind?
That was why she was here: to figure out if she needed to cut things off with him. But she flinched from the mere thought of ending the sweetest thing she’d had in ages—their secret, sexy, wonderful affair.
“That’s right!” Camille shouted. “Skate like there’s glitter on the highway!”
Camille held up a finger and mouthed one more minute. As Elle waited for the upbeat song to end, she dropped her head to her hand, Marcus’s confession echoing in her mind. There was no way she could tell Colin about his brother. That would be wrong. It wasn’t her place. But she felt awful knowing this news was barreling toward him and that any day he’d learn he had a long-lost brother.
There was something so very soapy about it, as if she could be reading the crib notes to a storyline on As the World Turns.
The character of the mother becomes pregnant before the murder of her husband. The mother hides her pregnancy during what turns out to be a speedy trial. She goes to jail six months pregnant. No one in her family knows about the baby in her belly. The only one the wiser—besides the medical staff at the correctional facility—is her lover on the outside. The lover whose hands were clean of the crime.
Elle shuddered as her sister encouraged the crowd to “bang, bang, bang on the door.”
Then the half-brother is born in prison and handed over to his father, who moves far, far away from Vegas with his baby son. He’s not required to tell a soul. There are no prison rules, nor federal ones, requiring a parent to disclose to half-siblings that they have a new little brother.
The father meets a new woman in San Diego, falls in love with her, fathers more children, and returns to Vegas a few years ago with his oddly blended family.
Elle had started to replay the rest of the story when the song ended and Camille introduced an MC Hammer tune then set down her mic. She nodded to the little gate at the edge of her DJ booth. Elle rose and followed Camille to the skate racks as she began straightening pairs of rental skates. Elle joined in, knowing the routine well from having helped out here before.
“So what’s the story? Time to spill,” Camille said in her no-nonsense tone as she tucked some laces into a pair of skates.
“The problem is, I can’t even tell you what the problem is,” Elle said, frustration thick in her voice as she adjusted the wheels on another pair.
Camille arched an eyebrow and stared at Elle with her deep brown eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Well, unswear yourself, girl, so I can help out,” Camille said, nudging Elle with an elbow. “Or do I need to tickle it out of you, like when we were kids?”
Elle stepped away and held up her hands in surrender. “Not the tickle! Anything but the tickle.”
“Fine. I won’t torture you like that. But tell me what’s on your mind. I have ten minutes of MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice queued up before I need to get back there, and I want to help you,” she said as she worked her way down a row. Camille’s dark hair was twisted into a looped-over ponytail, and she wore jeans and a T-shirt. She’d been managing this rink since after college. Both sisters had been avid skaters growing up, and Camille loved music and happy places, as she liked to say, so the job fit her perfectly. She’d been the one to encourage Elle to try out for the Fishnet Brigade a few years ago. Perfect therapy to deal with your crazy-ass baby daddy, she’d said. Camille had never been fond of Sam, and with good reason.
Elle sighed and tried to figure out how to begin to ask for the advice she couldn’t even truly ask for. “So there’s this guy…”
“Ah, the plot thickens.”
“And I like him.”
“Oooh. It’s even thicker.”
“But it’s not serious.”
“Because of you or him?”
Elle stopped unknotting a gnarled lace to consider the question. Did Colin want to be serious with her? From time to time, he’d seemed to. But he never pushed her. He understood her boundaries. “Both of us are fine with the way it is,” she answered before she had time to delve any deeper into why she’d been experiencing more moments when she wanted to shed the boundaries and erase the lines between them. To dive in full speed ahead, damn the consequences. “But the thing is, I learned something about him and his family that he doesn’t know.”
“Oh, now the plot is molasses thick,” Camille said, her eyes glittery with excitement from the prospect of a juicy tale.
“And I can’t divulge what I know because of confidentiality guidelines as a social worker, and it’s kind of a big thing, so I just have to wait and see if this other person will divulge it to him. And ugh, Camille, I just feel like a mess in here,” she said, grabbing her belly. “I’m all twisted and turned, and I feel like I’m lying to him, but I’m not. I just can’t tell him. It’s not my secret to tell.”
Camille’s expression turned serious and she stepped away from the row of skates. She parked her hands on Elle’s shoulders. “You can’t solve every problem. If this is something you can’t do anything about, you need to try not to let it eat away at you. You worry too much, and you take on the weight of everything. And I get it. You’ve had some tough shit to deal with yourself.”
“But do I keep seeing him while knowing this secret and not being able to say it?”
“Do you want to see him?”
Elle nodded. Easiest question of the night.
“If your hands are tied, your hands are tied. You can’t untie them, just like you couldn’t make Sam a better dad,” she said, reminding Elle of how hard she’d tried to fix the things beyond fixing. “Lord knows, if you’re having a nice time with this new guy, you deserve it. Let go of the things you can’t control.” Camille snapped her fingers. “That reminds me of a song. Lace up!”
Elle grabbed a pair of skates, tied them quickly, and rolled over to the rink, eagerly anticipating her sister’s musical choice for her life.
Camille returned to her perch at the mic. “Boys and girls, men and women of all ages. I need to take a break from Vanilla Ice because every now and then we must heed the advice of the one and only Ice Queen, Elsa.”
Elle cracked up over her sister’s choice. Only Camille could find inspiration in the insanely popular Disney song that blared through the rink. Maybe the verses of “Let It Go” weren’t entirely on point where Elle’s problem was concerned, but the chorus and the final few lines gave her something else she needed.
A reminder that this battle wasn’t hers to pick and choose. It wasn’t hers to fight or not fight. All she could do was stand on the sidelines.
Let the storm rage on.
Whatever was brewing in Colin’s life wasn’t Elle’s storm. It would rage on of its own power, whether or not she saw the man again.
* * *
Later that night, Alex grabbed an extra composition notebook from the school supplies aisle at Target and showed it to Elle. “For planning.”
“Always good to plan for school.”
He shook his head. “Nope. This one is for State of Decay. I came up with a new strategy today, and I want to write it down and test it out, step by step.”
She shook her head, bemused. “Look, sweetie. I’m glad you like the game, but your freshman year of high school starts in about a week, and you do need to start focusing on schoolwork. Maybe we should get you a history review book, and you can work on how World War I began instead of your zombie attack plan.”
“Don’t worry. It was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and I’ll still bring home straight As,” he said, flashing her a toothy smile. He wasn’t exactly a straight-A student, but he earned enough of them that she didn’t stress much about his grades.
She snagged the notebook from him and dangled it like an offering. “Tell you what, mister. I won’t worry about your strategy plans, if you agree to review history facts like that one every day for the next week—before you spend any time on your new project.”
He held out his hand to shake. “Deal.”
She dropped the notebook into the cart. “And now, we are off to find a history review book.”
He shot her a look like she was crazy.
“What? You just said you’d study up on history facts?”
“I will. But seriously, Mom. A book? Maybe an app with history quizzes or something instead?”
She held up a hand, but gave in. “Fine. But track it down by tomorrow, and show it to me.”
He pumped a fist in victory. “Awesome. And listen, I came up with a whole new approach to State of Decay,” he said, his voice rising in excitement as she rolled the cart to the highlighters. “That guy at the center, Colin, told me to.”
She stopped immediately and tilted her head. “He did?” she asked, unsure what to make of Colin’s chat with her son. True, the two had talked before. But still, she was damn curious what they had chatted about.
“He said you just devise a strategy and follow it,” he said, sweeping one hand across the other and pointing forward, like a general launching into battle. “But don’t be afraid to change if it’s not working.”
As he dropped a yellow highlighter onto their pile of supplies, she had her answer. Funny that it came from Colin through her son.
Time for her to change her approach.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
From the twenty-ninth floor of his office building, the icons of the Strip looked like Monopoly hotels. Up here, they became little Lego structures with playful shapes and Lilliputian charm—the pyramid of the Luxor, the miniature Eiffel Tower, the rollercoaster that wrapped around the New York-New York hotel…
The view from miles away was akin to how an idea took shape for Colin. It started small, but as he zoomed in closer it had the potential to become a glittering star on the skyline. That was what he was looking for today from his team of venture capitalists as they presented the startups they were considering funding.
When Larsen, one of the youngest and brightest staffers at Redwood Mountain Ventures, finished his presentation, Colin leaned forward in his chair, ready with questions.
“What is your risk analysis? Is it worth it?” Colin asked, wishing he could apply a simple mathematical formula to understanding Elle and her radio silence like he did with scrappy little startups. But as Larsen shared both the potential of the advertising tech firm under consideration as well as the risk, Colin was reminded once again that even black-and-white business decisions weren’t rubber stamped through mathematical equations. There was no formula to tell if a company was the next PayPal, Google, or Uber.
It was math plus intuition. It was analysis plus gut. In business, Colin had always relied on razor-sharp instincts. He’d leaned on them, too, with Elle. But all of a sudden, they’d stopped working. She’d stopped writing, stopped talking to him, stopped engaging. And he had no clue what to do next.
“I’m not convinced consumers want this technology yet,” he said to Larsen, and the sentiment was eerily similar to how he imagined Elle felt about him.
When the meeting ended and the other team members left, Colin pulled Larsen aside. “Thank you for all your hard work. As always, your presentations are top-notch. I want you to find the next game changer. You’re close. Keep searching.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sloan,” the young man said before he scurried out.
“It’s Colin,” he shouted in a light-hearted voice. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just Colin?”
“Probably a lot. Thank you, Colin,” Larsen said from down the hall.
As he headed to his office to dive into work, his assistant rang. “There’s someone here to see you. She has a delivery of flowers.”
* * *
The big bouquet of orange lilies and purple asters hid her face. Clutching the blue glass vase tightly, Elle walked into Colin’s office, nerves bouncing across her skin.
She had no clue if he was pissed at her.
She had no clue if he even wanted an in-person delivery.
But this was the least she could do.
She’d never been to his office before, and from her spot behind the vase, the first thing she noticed was the burgundy carpet, then a soft beige couch and a shiny oak coffee table arranged in front of his desk. Slowly, like in a game of peekaboo, she moved the vase and revealed her face.
Holy shit.
She nearly dropped the flowers.
The view from the window was stunning, but it had nothing on Colin.
He stood, resting casually against the edge of his desk, wearing the hottest two pieces of a three-piece suit. He didn’t have a jacket on; he wore tailored pants, a white shirt, and a vest, and she had to force her lips together so she wouldn’t start panting, drooling, or just gaping at him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up twice, revealing a hint of the infinity symbol on his forearm.
She wanted to lick it. She wanted to lick him. If ever there were a more perfect image for edgy businessmen than this one—Colin, with his dark eyes, sexy scruff, rolled-up sleeves, and that vest, that fucking vest that was killing her with hotness—she wouldn’t believe it. Nope. The evidence was in front of her, and she had to have him. She had to somehow cordon off the secrets she couldn’t reveal from the man she couldn’t resist.
Two Elles. Plain and simple. Here and now, she declared herself cloned.
She cast her gaze to the bouquet. “They call it a carnival of color,” she said, her voice dry.
He didn’t move an inch. His arms were crossed. “It is colorful. What do you call it?”
She stepped closer. “A thank you. An in-person thank-you for your firm’s amazing generosity in supporting the community center.”
He walked to her, took the flowers, and set them on the coffee table. “You’re welcome,” he said as he sat on his couch.
Her chest tightened with nerves. “It’s also an apology.”
He cocked his head. “For what?”
“For canceling.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that.”
“I do, though,” she insisted. “Because I didn’t want to cancel.”
“Elle, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. I don’t expect an apology. I don’t expect anything.”
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe she’d trained him to expect nothing from her because she felt like she had nothing to give.
And while she couldn’t give him the full truth, she could offer him her truth. So she marched to the door and shut it, giving them complete privacy, and returned to him, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.
“I know you don’t expect anything, but I just left you hanging, and that’s not fair, no matter what this is,” she said, gesturing from him to her. “I just had a lot of stuff on my mind, and I kind of freaked out, and that’s why I was out of touch.” He parted his lips to say something, and she kept going in a rush. “But right now, I only have one thing on my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow, this time inviting her to say more.
She reached for his right wrist, tracing the infinity symbol, forcing away the thoughts that threatened to touch down in her head—he’d gotten this ink to symbolize the connection between him and his siblings. The four of them. But there were more. Except this Elle didn’t know that. This Elle was the one having the affair with Colin Sloan.
She stroked the lines on his wrist. He hissed in a breath as she made contact with his skin. She raised her chin and met his eyes. “You look so fucking hot,” she said in a whisper.
“So do you,” he said, his eyes blazing.
She glanced at her attire—a summery skirt and a sleeveless top. Hardly her hottest outfit. She let go of his wrist and leaned closer to him, dropping her hands to his thighs, so strong and firm under her touch.
“I bet I’ll look hotter when I do this,” she said and palmed him through his pants. A burst of sparks ignited in her belly as she stroked his erection, loving that he was already rock hard, that all it took was this momentary closeness, the heat of suggestion, and a few words to ratchet him up. But then, maybe he was just like her. Maybe he’d wanted her from the second he’d laid eyes on her today, too.
In a flash, she unzipped his pants, pushing them open so she could see his newest ink. Her breath caught as she gazed at the Phoenix tattoo on his hip. She ran her thumb over it then lowered her lips to flick her tongue across it. She raised her face. “Does your door lock automatically?”
He shook his head. “But they know not to come in if it’s shut.”
She arched an eyebrow, her unsaid question clear. Have you done this before?
He shook his head. “No. They know because I like to be able to focus at times. And when I need to focus—ah, fuck. Could you just lock it so we can get to the good part?”
She laughed and practically vaulted over the chair and table to flip the latch on the door. When she turned around, he’d pushed his pants to his knees and was stroking himself. Her mouth watered as he worked his fist slowly up and down the length of his gorgeous shaft.
“Don’t do that,” she said as she stared at him, so turned on by the sight of the man’s hand wrapped around his hard-on. “I want it all. I want all of you in my mouth. All to myself.”
“You can have all of my dick anytime you want,” he said, and in seconds she was on her knees, licking the head. They groaned at the same time, their sounds making it clear how much they both wanted this. She glanced up at him as he watched her draw his cock into her mouth.
“I definitely accept your apology now,” he said with a light laugh then threaded his fingers into her hair, pushing it all over to one side so he had a perfect view of her face.
She flicked her tongue along the hard length of him as she sucked.
“You can cancel on me anytime,” he said.
She grinned even with her mouth full, then her smile vanished as he groaned louder and gripped her hair with both hands. There was no time for smiling or laughing with his cock all the way in her mouth. All she cared about was making him feel good, because he’d only ever made her feel amazing. Beautiful. Craved.
She wanted him to feel the same. She drew him in deep, opening her mouth wide but sucking hard, the way he liked. Friction, lots of friction, and speed. She’d only done this to him once before, in a bathroom at a Japanese restaurant off the Strip one night after they’d finished an appetizer of edamame and were waiting for their sushi. He’d come hard and fast, and she’d loved it. But not as much as she loved it now—on her knees, in his office, with the stunning view of Las Vegas splashed behind them.
“Suck me harder,” he urged in a heated whisper, and she couldn’t resist. She loved that he was vocal and direct. That he told her exactly what he liked. She moved faster, cupping his balls in one hand, playing with them as she licked, sucked, and aimed to steal every last breath from his lungs with a blow job that would blow his mind.
“Ah,” he said on a moan. “Like that. Just like that. I fucking love it when you do that.”
She knew what he meant, so she moved her hands faster across his balls, gently tugging as she showed him how incredibly much she loved his cock. Heat blasted through her like a rocket. She was so goddamn turned on from blowing him. Another pair of panties melted—wetness pooled between her legs, and she ached. Her sex pulsed with need. She could practically come like this. She rocked her pelvis as he fucked her mouth. Her hips moved back and forth because she wanted to be riding him so badly. But she wanted this more—all of him between her lips.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. So fucking deep,” he said as his fingers gripped her skull, and he kept her head firmly in place.
Faster and harder, more frenzied than ever, she sucked his cock, imagining him as king of this town, presiding over partnerships, striking deals and making decisions, but here, for these few moments in his office, she controlled all of this man’s pleasure. With her mouth. With her tongue. With her lips.
With her ravenous appetite for him. With her bottomless desire to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.
He groaned louder, and rocked up into her mouth. A quick, hard thrust. Then another. He was starting to lose control, fucking her mouth harder than he ever had before. She nearly gagged.
But she didn’t, because she needed his pleasure desperately. Had to give it to him. Had to take him deep.
He shuddered, grasped her head as if holding on for life, and grunted. There were no words left to say. Only feelings. Only pleasure. Only release. She swallowed every last drop of him then licked his cock up and down before letting go and meeting his eyes.
“Can I come over tonight?”
* * *
There was only one answer.
Still, he wanted to know something. Pulling her up on his lap, he adjusted her skirt so she straddled him. “You said you kind of freaked out. Why did you freak out?”
She gulped. Pushed her hair—slightly messy from his hands—away from her cheek. She looked him in the eyes. “Because I like you.”
Oh hell. There it was. His heart hitched a ride on a hot-air balloon, sailing away to the sky. He was hopeless with her. “I like you, too,” he said, looping his arms around her and planting a quick kiss on those wickedly talented lips. “Does that scare you?”
“To like you? Or that you like me, too?” she asked.
He smiled. “Both.”
She nodded. “Both scare me.”
“Just be honest with me. That’s all we have, Elle,” he said, cupping her cheek, keeping her gaze on him. “That’s all I ask of you. I respect your boundaries and your wishes. All I want is your truth.”
She closed her eyes. Her face looked pained and she sighed, but when she opened her eyes, she nodded.
“So listen—no strings, no promises, nothing more. But if you cancel, don’t say something came up. Say I have to see my sister, or I’m too tired, or I need to work late, or I don’t want to see you again. Or I met a guy with a bigger cock, and—”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Just go ahead and strike that excuse. Because you know that will never happen.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Good. It’s my secret weapon.”
“You can use that weapon against me anytime.”
He gave a quick thrust up, showing he was always armed around her. “Another option would be: I’m going to surprise you at your office tomorrow with flowers and the blow job of a lifetime.”
A grin spread across her face. “Was it the blow job of a lifetime?” Her voice was so damn sweet as she asked.
“Fuck yeah. It was so good I might even add some new ink that says ‘I am a lucky son-of-a-bitch. I’ve had the best blow job ever.’” She cracked up, then her laughter was cut short when her phone buzzed.
“That’s probably my son texting me again.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. But apparently it’s impossible to find a decent history quiz app in the entire app store,” she said drily as she stretched back to her purse, grabbed her phone, and slid open a text. “Yup. That’s him. He claims he still can’t find one.”
“He really tells you that?”
She rolled her hazel eyes, and grasped his shirt, tugging for emphasis. “I made him a deal—if he studies history before school starts, I’ll let him try his new strategy for State of Decay. By the way, thank you for sharing that little tip with him. Very analytical,” she said, and he nodded a you’re welcome. “But he claims he can’t find a decent app at all. That a good history app doesn’t exist.”
The corner of his lips quirked up. This was too easy for him. This was a piece of cake. “I know a few. We were pitched on an e-learning company a few weeks ago. We didn’t invest because there’s no huge market upside, but I was pretty damn impressed with the ease of use, and the focus on actual facts rather than earning points in gameplay or something.”
Her eyes widened, and she gripped his shirt even harder. “Are you serious?”
“Totally serious. Let me go back through my notes and send it to you later.”
“You can send it to him directly, if you don’t mind. I’ll text you his number. But copy me, so I know he got it.”
He grinned. Progress. This was a big step forward. “Absolutely.”
She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his nose. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then once more, in an even quieter voice, “You are my hero.”
That’s all I want to be.
But aloud he said, “I’m glad I can help you.”
“Isn’t there anything I can do for you? Help you find the next Snapchat to fund?” she asked, teasing.
“I’m always on the hunt for the next thing.”
“Or should I just get to work on topping the blow job of a lifetime?” She winked. “Now that you’ve set the bar so high for me.”
“Yes. That. Do that. And you set the bar yourself with this fantastic mouth,” he said, running his fingertip across her lips. “But you know what I also want?” He dipped a hand under her skirt and stroked her damp panties. Ah, nothing he loved more than the evidence of her desire.
She moved gently against his hand. “What do you want?”
“God, I want to fuck you right now,” he growled as he slid a finger inside her underwear, feeling her slick flesh.
She gasped. “Do it.”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to want it.”
“You think I don’t?” she asked, as she rocked into his fingers gliding across her.
“I want you to want it so much it drives you crazy.”
“I’m pretty much insane right now,” she said, her breath coming faster.
It was his cue to slow down. “I know. But I want you to come over tonight already hot and wet. I want you to spend the day thinking about me, and what I’m going to do to you, so when you show up you’ll be a live wire, and I can fucking devour all your sweetness.”
“Oh God,” she said, shuddering as she moved faster into his fingers.
He had to exercise phenomenal control. He could have her coming all over his hand in less than a minute, but that would ruin tonight.
He bent his head to her ear, and whispered, “I want to taste you coming. I want to fuck you so hard. I want to feel you beneath me as you writhe and moan and scream. And I want that in exactly nine hours. See you at seven.”
He smacked her rear, giving her a sharp crack to remember him by all day. He zipped himself up, kissed her good-bye, and showed her the door.
He wasn’t imagining it when she shook her ass at him in a sexy “see you later” as she walked away.
