Текст книги "Оллмп"

Автор книги: Меган Куин

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“Sounds like it.” Guilt washes over his face. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

I snap out of my funk and connect with his eyes.

There he is.

The Chipotle guy.

Right there. The stern scowl on his forehead is gone. The boyish charm is brimming in his eyes. And the way he pulls on the back of his neck—unmistakable.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Traumatizing. I will have to bleach my eyes, but I’ll make it.”

He smirks and then reaches behind him to his back pocket. That’s when I notice he’s wearing jeans and sneakers. Well, hello, Mr. Casual.

“I got something for you.”

“You did?” I ask.

He nods and brings a rolled-up piece of fabric out in front of him.

“What is it?”

He unravels it and holds it up. “Thought you might like it.”

In front of me is a cream-colored, vintage rock band T-shirt with Fleetwood Mac on the front, the image from their Rumours album.

“Oh my God.” I take it from him. “This is amazing.” I hold it out and study it.

“Check out the back,” he says.

I turn it around and take in all the city tour dates.

“Wait, is this an original tour shirt?”

“Yeah,” he says. When I glance up, I catch the pride in his eyes.

“Holy shit, Huxley. This is . . . wow, this is amazing.” I clutch it to my chest. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”

And this is exactly why I’m having such a hard time. Because the thoughtfulness behind this T-shirt only makes me like him that much more. The gesture cracks open my chest and pulls on my heart, forcing me to look at him in a different light.

He rubs his hands on his legs. “Glad you like it.” He glances to the side and it almost looks as though he’s . . . nervous. Nervous about what? “I wasn’t sure if you had anything else planned for today. Do you?”

He’s acting really weird.

Very strange.

Not like the demanding man I’ve come to know very well.

“Uh, nothing on the docket. Just trying to erase what happened this morning.”

He nods and continues to rub his hands on his thighs. “Well, if that’s all you have planned, I was thinking I might take you somewhere.”

Take me somewhere?

An inch of hope blooms in my belly. It’s coupled with excitement.

Is he . . . is he asking me out?

Is that why he’s nervous?

Is that why he’s rocking back and forth?

Because he’s nervous to ask me out?

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lottie. Remember, he wouldn’t kiss you over the weekend. Even when the rain was dripping off his chest and he was thrusting into you, he kept his lips to himself.

I choke down my raw emotions and ask, “Like on a date?”

His eyes land on mine. And for a torturous second, I’m terrified I read him completely wrong, until he says, “Yeah, like on a date.”

Oh God. He’s serious.

The honesty.

The shadow of hope in his eyes.

The nervous tick in his hands.

How could I possibly say no? There’s no way I could say no, not when my body gravitates toward him, when I can sense my heart opening up to him, even when I try to hide it or hold back. He’s got me hooked. It’s undeniable.

I’m positively hooked on this man.

I try to keep my emotions casual, though. “What were you thinking?”

His nervous ticks morph into a confident smile as he reaches to pull out something else from his back pocket. He holds a piece of paper in front of me and then flicks his fingers so the one piece of paper in his hand turns into two. “Care to go to a Fleetwood Mac concert with me?”

“What?” I shout, standing from the couch and grabbing the tickets to look at them closely. “No way. There’s no way . . .” My eyes scan the tickets. “Holy shit, these are tickets, these are real fucking tickets. Huxley, did you know these are real tickets?”

He chuckles as he stands as well. “Do you think I’d buy fake ones?”

“No, I mean—I just thought, you know, it would be like a fake ticket and then we go on the patio and play the music, pretending it’s a concert, but these are real. They have a barcode on them.”

“The barcode makes all the difference.”

In disbelief, I stare down at the tickets. “I can’t believe this. I didn’t know they were going to be in Los Angeles. I—Huxley . . .” I glance up at him. “Wait. This concert is in Portland.”

Hope falls as I realize the mistake.

He tilts up my chin and says, “I know. The jet is ready to take us once you get dressed.”

“Jet?” I ask.

A cocky smirk appears on his face. “Yeah, you do realize I have a private jet, right? We can go wherever we want, when we want.” He winks, the confidence in full swing now. “That’s what happens when you have a rich fake fiancé.”

“Wait . . . so we’re flying to Portland tonight and we’re really going to go see Fleetwood Mac . . . in concert?”

He nods. “Yup. There’s also this burger place in Portland called Killer Burger. We should go there for dinner. Maybe Voodoo Doughnut for dessert. That’s if you’re up for it.”

“Are you kidding me?” I nearly shout. “Of course I’m up for it.” I look him in the eyes. “Thank you, Huxley. This is . . .” I catch my breath. “This is really thoughtful.”

This is why I’m falling for this man. This right here.

That smile.

That kind heart.

That attentive, sexy mind of his.

“I wanted to do something nice for you.” He pinches my chin with his forefinger and thumb. “I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” And for some reason, that comment diminishes my hope that this is something more. He’s grateful for the work I’ve done for him. Deep sigh. I can’t let that ruin my night, though. He might not be in the same headspace as me, but at least I can enjoy tonight. He looks at his watch. “Think you can get ready in half an hour?”

“On it,” I say while squeezing the shirt to my chest. “I have the perfect shorts to wear—ugh, you took my clothes away. I don’t have jean shorts.”

“I had your clothes brought over this morning. Figured you’d want something casual to wear tonight. Everything is in your room.”

“God bless you.” I stand on my toes, lift up, and, because I have a death sentence, I place a kiss on his jaw. “Thank you, Huxley.”

And then with my T-shirt in hand, I run up the stairs to my room so I can get dressed. I can’t believe I’m about to see Fleetwood Mac in concert.

But more importantly, I can’t believe I’m going on a date with Huxley Cane.

Kelsey: He’s flying you to Portland? What? For a date? Where can I find myself a Huxley?

Lottie: He has two brothers.

Kelsey: Unlike you, I don’t mix business with pleasure. But enough about that. HOLY SHIT, Lottie, you’re going to see Fleetwood Mac. Did you tell Mom?

Lottie: Not yet. I figured I’d send her a picture.

Kelsey: Where are the seats? Front row?

Lottie: I didn’t even look. Probably not.

Kelsey: He’s flying you to Portland in his private jet. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mind spending money on expensive tickets.

Lottie: He has the tickets, I’m getting dressed. I’ll let you know where the seats are when I look at them again.

Kelsey: What are you wearing?

Lottie: He gave me a vintage tour T-shirt with the Rumours cover on the front, so I’m wearing that and my ripped jean shorts. Hair down and curled, and my boho hat. Ankle boots.

Kelsey: It’s perfect. Think he’s making a move?

Lottie: I honestly can’t think about it. I asked him if it was a date and he said yes. But he also thanked me for the work I’ve done. This was what I was worried about. I really like him, and I don’t think he returns the feeling.

Kelsey: Then just enjoy. Maybe this is the olive branch, him trying to connect the two of you on a different level.

Lottie: I’m nervous. All the teasing, the sexual tension, that felt easy, but a date? That just feels all too real.

Kelsey: Because it is real. Don’t waste your time worrying about it. Just enjoy it, because when do you ever get whisked away on a private jet?

Lottie: Never.

Kelsey: Exactly. Enjoy the moment, sis. Take lots of pictures and enjoy yourself. I love you.

Lottie: Love you, too.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Eighteen

HUXLEY

“You’re gripping the armrest pretty tightly. Are you nervous?”

Lottie looks away from the window and says, “Just never been on a plane this small. It’s different.”

She’s sitting across from me, looking sexy as hell in short denim shorts, her vintage T-shirt that she tied in the back so it shows two inches of her midriff, and that goddamn hat, which is doing things to my libido I never expected. When she came down the stairs in her outfit, I knew I was in for a long night of staring and appreciating, with the secret hope that when we’re at the concert, she’ll let me hold her.

“Want to do something to distract you?”

She raises a brow and I roll my eyes.

“Nothing like that.” I reach to the side panel of my seat and pull out a pad of paper and a pen. There’s a table between us so we have the perfect playing space. “Want to play some Hangman?”

“Is that Huxley Cane branded stationery?”

“Just Cane Enterprises.”

“God, you are rich.”

I chuckle. “I am. So, how about it? Want to play?”

Cutely, she cracks her fingers and says, “I’ll have you know, I’m an expert.”

“Yeah, guess we’ll have to see about that.”

I draw out the game board and then put spaces on the paper for my chosen word.

Lottie takes her time, studying the paper. Her eyes shoot to mine, then to the paper and then back to mine. She leans back in her chair, crosses her arms, and says, “Pussy.”

My eyes nearly bulge out of my sockets. “What?”

She taps the paper. “That’s your word. Pussy. I’m right, aren’t I?”

How the actual fuck?

She smiles and chuckles. “I’m right. God, I told you I was good.” She takes the paper from me and fills in my blank spaces. “Are you impressed?”

“Terrified.”

The laugh that falls past her lips is so goddamn sexy that I’m tempted to pull her across this table and put her on my lap, where I can kiss her senseless.

Fuck do I want to taste those lips again, desperately. But for the first time in my life when it comes to a woman I like . . . I feel unsure. I wouldn’t say we’ve had the best track record when it comes to getting along, nor has our relationship so far been one filled with ease. It’s been tense, uncomfortable at times, a lie. That’s no way to start a relationship, which makes me question, does she even want to start anything with me? Although, I’m sure I saw happiness in her expression when she asked if this was a date. I think.

She marks down some spaces on the paper and says, “Okay, your turn.”

I study the six-letter word. Glance up at her. Then back at the paper. I grip my chin and say, “O.”

Her eyes flash to mine, they’re lit up with humor as she marks O as the first letter.

Smiling widely now, I say, “M.”

“You know.” She tosses the pen at me.

“Orgasm.” When she rolls her eyes, I say, “You’re not the only one good at this game.”

“It seems as though we’re both perverts.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I’m uncultured. What’s your excuse?”

“Uncultured?” I laugh. “What makes you uncultured?”

She rubs her fingers together. “I didn’t grow up with money.”

“Money has nothing to do with it. Some of the richest people are uncultured swine. Complete assholes. Money has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, then tell me, what makes a cultured person?”

“Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. It has nothing to do with status and everything to do with who you are as a person.”

Thoughtfully, she tilts her head to the side. “So, based off those criteria, would you say I’m cultured?”

Giving her a hard time, I say, “Well, your heart is beautiful. Your soul is spotted with black, but overall, a kind one, and, well, your mind . . . that’s all kinds of fucked up.”

Her mouth drops open in amusement as she stands from her seat and charges toward me. I don’t flinch. When she reaches out to poke me with her rose-colored nail, I take her hand and pull her forward so she’s forced to sit on my lap.

She playfully fights me, poking me all over my chest. “I’ll show you a spotted-black soul.”

I chuckle and gain hold of her hands, only to pin them at her side.

“Let go of me at once. I’m attempting to prove a point to you.”

“What are you going to do? Poke me to death?”

“To death seems a bit extreme, don’t you think, Huxley?” She arches a brow. “A bit dramatic.”

“You’re the one who came over here with your fingers. How am I supposed to know what you’re doing?”

“So, your first inclination is that I’m going to poke you to death . . . to death, Huxley.”

I shrug. “You did harbor some strong hate for me at the beginning.”

“Yeah, at the beginning, but not anymore.”

My lips turn up in a grin. “Not anymore, huh?”

She rolls her eyes and attempts to get off my lap. “I’m not here to boost your ego.”

I keep her firmly in place. “I’d never expect you to. Now cutting it down, that’s another thing.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

“You do a damn good job at it.”

“Would you say I’m the best at it?”

I release her hands and rest my palm on her thigh. She doesn’t flee, but stays in place, which I fucking like. “Between you and my brothers, it’s a tough competition, but I think you edge them out.”

“I shall wear my medal with honor.”

“Mr. Cane,” the pilot says over the speaker. “We’ll be landing shortly. Please take your seat and buckle up.”

I pat Lottie’s leg. “Are you ready for this?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t look like I have time to prepare myself.” Before she gets off my lap, she reaches out and cups my cheek. Her facial features turn soft, endearing, as she says, “If I forget to say it tonight, thank you, Huxley. Thank you so much for this. You’re really making a dream of mine come true.”

I place my hand on hers and move it to my mouth to kiss her palm. “You’re welcome, Lottie.”

“I’m sweating.”

“What?” I laugh. “What do you mean you’re sweating?”

We’re standing in line, waiting to enter the concert hall, and this is the first thing she’s said to me since we left the car after finishing off our donuts. We shared a burger and fries at Killer Burger, opting for the peanut butter burger, before we headed over to Voodoo Doughnut and each got a donut, but split them, so we could have a taste of each. Lottie’s idea. But she’s been silent ever since the donuts were consumed. I asked her a question at one point, but she didn’t answer, instead, continued to stare out the window. I wasn’t sure what was going through her head, so I chose to just let her have her peace.

Holding on tightly to my hand, she leans in close to me and says, “I’m so excited, Hux. I’m sweaty. I’m nervous. My body doesn’t know what to do with itself.”

I like it when she calls me Hux. It sounds good coming from her lips.

“Are you going to fangirl out?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says with confidence. “If you didn’t expect that, you clearly don’t know me at all. And I expect you to fangirl out as well.”

“I’ll get my girly scream ready.”

She chuckles. “What I wouldn’t give to hear it.” The doors open and the crowd grows closer as people begin to filter into the vintage Art Deco building.

“Before we head in, want to take a picture with the marquee?” I ask. She’s nervous, so she might say no.

“Oh, great idea,” she answers.

Thank fuck.

I take my phone from my pocket and switch it to camera mode. Lottie curls against my side and places her hand on my chest, and I angle the phone just right to capture my height, her height, and the marquee above us.

Once I take a few, I say, “I’ll text you the best one.”

“Please do. I want to send one to my mom. She’s going to freak out.”

“Is she a Fleetwood Mac fan too?” I pocket my phone as we move closer to the building.

“Yes. She was the one who introduced me to their music, basically to all the music I love.”

“If I knew, I would’ve invited her as well.”

“Stop. It’s better like this, making her jealous.” Lottie smiles, and . . . fuck . . . I like that smile. I’m obsessed with that smile.

I’m obsessed with her.

“Daughter of the year.”

“I think so.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “What about your brothers? Are they jealous?”

“They don’t know I’m here.”

“Really?” she asks, surprised. “You didn’t tell them?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She pauses and asks, “Didn’t want them to know about me?”

I clutch her hand tighter to ease any doubts that might be popping up in her head. “Didn’t want to hear their I-told-you-so’s.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, confused.

This is not the place I want to have this conversation, in a throng of people, but thankfully, we’re at the front of the line so I can press pause on my answer as I hand the ticket attendant our tickets. Once they’re scanned, we walk into the concert hall. From the outside, it stands above the rest, with its gothic-style columns surrounding the marquee, but on the inside, it’s decked out in gold wallpaper from floor to ceiling. Pops of a dusty sky-blue are carved into the pillars surrounding the lobby, while the floors are a colorfully glazed tile that must be original to its era of build. Breathtaking. Art Deco at its finest.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask her as we move toward a concession stand.

“Uh, sure,” she answers quietly, and I know the shift in her mood is from the question she asked that went unanswered.

I work her through the crowd and find a concession stand that just opened. I order us both a beer, and then, with the drinks in hand, I guide her to our seats, which are on the first row of the mezzanine level, dead center. The perfect view, in my opinion. Just close enough, but not so close that we’re craning our necks.

“Wow, these are great seats,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m pleased with them.”

She takes a seat, and once she’s settled, I hand her a beer and then take a seat as well, being sure to turn toward her. Everyone is still filtering in to their seats so I take this opportunity to elaborate on my answer.

I just hope she’s on the same page as me, because I’m about to put myself out there—put my personal life over business—and that’s fucking terrifying. What if she doesn’t feel the same way about me? What if I’ve been reading her wrong this entire time? I can’t keep living in this unknown so there’s only one way to find out.

I set my drink in the cup holder and reach for her hand, which she lets me take. I bring her knuckles to my lips and place a gentle kiss there. Her cheeks stain with a hint of pink as she smiles at me.

“My brothers were skeptical about our situation.” I look her in the eyes. “They told me there was no way I would be able to keep this strictly professional—our agreement.” I rub the side of my cheek, a bout of nerves hitting me all at once. Christ, man, just say it. “They were right. After our first night hanging out with Ellie and Dave, I knew you were different. And then I had a taste of you, in the hallway, I got to watch you come apart on my fingers, and I was fucking done. I tried to deny it, to ignore it, but my need for you has grown too strong, Lottie.” With a deep breath, I say, “I want more from you. And I know this crosses the line of our agreement, but I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you, because I do. I like you, Lottie. I like you a lot.”

“I was not expecting you to say that.” She takes a deep breath. Fuck, she doesn’t feel the same way.

She stands from her chair, and I panic that she’s about to leave, but instead, she sets her beer in her cupholder and takes a seat on my lap. She places her hand on the back of my neck and plays with the short strands of my hair.

“I like you a lot, too, Huxley. And I want you to know how painful that is for me to admit.”

I chuckle as I’m filled with relief.

Her hand cups my cheek. “You’ve slowly won me over with your heart, something I never thought I would say. Given how things first started, I wasn’t sure there was a heart in that barrel of a chest of yours, but I know now that you were hiding it.”

“Because I didn’t want to show you. I wanted you to think I was cold, soulless, just a man to work with, nothing else.”

She chuckles. “Well, you did a good job at that, but too bad for you, I have people in my life who like to point out the good in you. Which they pointed out to me. I wanted to deny it, I wanted to think it wasn’t true, that your soul wasn’t just spotted black, but encompassed by it. I was wrong.” She shakes her head and lets out a curt laugh. “God, I thought you didn’t like me at all, that maybe I was just a toy to you.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” I ask.

Shyly, she moves her hand over my shirt as she says, “Because this weekend, when we were intimate, you never kissed me.”

For a goddamn reason.

I tilt her chin up so she’s forced to look me in the eyes. “Because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” I wet my lips, moving closer. “And honestly, I wasn’t sure you even wanted me to kiss you.”

“I do,” she says, her voice sounding breathless. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something as much as I want you to kiss me.” Her hand falls to my cheek. “You’ve commanded my body, Huxley, now I want you to command my mouth.”

There’s no way in hell I can deny myself now, not with that confession, not with the way she’s pulling me closer.

No, I want this. I want her.

This might go against every goddamn thing I’ve said from the very beginning, but it seems as though it’s inevitable. There’s no more denying our attraction, our need, our yearning.

It’s out in the open, and I’m going to take advantage of it.

I gently place my hand at the side of her neck, and with my thumb, tilt her chin up just before I lower my mouth to hers.

It’s a simple kiss but with a powerful punch behind it, packed with pent-up restraint and desperation.

And now that I’m not in front of my brothers or Dave, I don’t have to make a show of our kiss. I can really let myself enjoy.

Enjoy how beautifully soft her lips are.

Enjoy the firm grip she has on my cheek, keeping me still, showing me how much more she wants from me.

Enjoy the soft noises that fall past her lips when she needs to catch her breath.

My mouth moves across hers, slowly exploring. Her tongue swipes against my lips and I open my mouth to allow her to explore. Timid at first, her tongue gingerly strokes mine, but as I grip her more tightly, her timid kiss turns more desperate, and before I know it, we’re making out, in our chair, waiting for the concert to start.

Her hand snakes behind my head and up into my hair, while I move my other hand to her ribcage, just below her breast. I’m tempted to cop a feel, to increase this burn between us, but right as I start to move my hand, a guitar chord strums through speakers.

We pull apart just in time for Fleetwood Mac to come onto the stage.

What?

No opening band?

No announcement?

Just . . . here they are?

The entire place erupts in cheers, and my comfortable make-out session turns into Lottie hopping off my lap and throwing her hands in the air as she starts jumping up and down and cheering.

Still seated in my seat, I give myself a few seconds to collect myself before I join her.

Lottie, she’s . . . hell, she’s fucking special. And I knew that from the first time she turned me down. She was someone in need, yet she only thought about her sister. She didn’t want her parents to be disappointed in her, so she looked out for them too. She fought me on things that deserved fighting me on, and even though I attempted to deny it from the beginning, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell I’ll be able to let her go.

And that means one thing: I have to make this work. I want to date Lottie, make her feel special, because that’s what she is—special. And I suspect she has no clue. No thanks to her “friend” Angela.

Standing from my chair, I wrap my arm around her and settle my hand on her stomach, keeping her close to me just as the chords for “Dreams” start to play. Lottie glances up at me, tears in her eyes. She reaches for the back of my head, brings me down to her, and places a passionate kiss across my lips, turning me into a goddamn desperate man, wanting so much more.

When she pulls away, she says, “Thank you, Huxley. Thank you so much.”

I press a light kiss to the end of her nose. “You’re welcome, Lottie.”

Smile still on her face, she spins in my arms and leans into my embrace.

And while Fleetwood Mac performs, Lottie never leaves my side, never shifts away. She sways to the music with me while we sing together, letting the night take ahold of us. And while I’ve been to many concerts before—a private jet makes it so easy—this is one of my best concert experiences. And it’s all about the girl in my arms.

“Mr. Cane, you’re free to remove your seatbelts and move about if you’d like,” the pilot says over the speaker.

Lottie is curled up in her seat, staring at me, the biggest smile on her face that I’ve ever seen.

“What?” I ask, unable to take it anymore. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

“Because I can now.”

“Didn’t know there was a rule that you couldn’t before.”

She cutely tilts her head to the side. She ditched her hat when we got back on the plane, and she tied her hair up into a ponytail so her hair was out of her face. “There is when all you keep saying to me over and over again is ‘contract, contract, contract.’”

I chuckle. “I had a protective shield up. Can’t blame me for that.”

“You weren’t like that when we first went out at Chipotle.”

“Because I didn’t know the effect you’d have on me,” I admit. “Once I realized you were a temptation I couldn’t have, I shut down.”

“I see,” she says while standing from her chair. She walks over to me and says, “And what am I now? Still a temptation?”

“Undeniably,” I answer.

Her finger moves over my shoulder. “But you can have me now?”

“You tell me,” I say.

Smirking, she takes my hand in hers and pulls me out of my chair and toward the back of the plane. I pause her at the door of the bedroom situated in the back.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she asks, pushing the door open and walking backward into the space while holding my hand and smiling up at me.

“Lottie, you don’t have to do this.”

“You say that as if it’s a chore.” She pulls me into the bedroom with her and shuts the door behind me. Her hands fall to the hem of my T-shirt, and she pulls it up and over my head before dropping it on the floor. “I know I don’t have to do anything.” Her hands fall to my chest. “But, God, Huxley, do I want to feel you inside of me.”

Just like that, I grow hard.

“Ever since that night when you made me come on your fingers, I’ve wanted to know what it would be like to come all over your cock.”

“Fu-ck,” I mumble.

Her fingers drag down my chest to the waistband of my jeans. She undoes my pants, but instead of pushing them down, she leaves them hanging on my waist and lifts her hands above her head.

“Undress me, Hux.”

Skin burning with lust for this woman, I reach for the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head. I drop the shirt with mine and take in the see-through black bra she’s wearing. Her nipples are puckered, pushing against the threadbare lace, and her breath appears erratic as her chest rises and falls rapidly.

Eyes connected with mine, she takes my hands and puts them on the front clasp of her bra. I don’t bother to look at the clasp as I undo it. Her breasts push the unhooked bra away, and she lets it slide down her arms to the ground.

I reach out and pass my thumb over one of her nipples. “You have the sexiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen. I could spend hours worshipping them.” I smooth my hand down her stomach to her jean shorts. I undo them and push them down to the ground, leaving her in just her black lace thong. “But I’ll wait to worship them another day. Now . . . I need to be inside of you.” I turn her around and lay her upper half down on the bed, keeping her lower half arched up for me. I take the sides of her thong and drag them down her legs until she can step out of it for me.

I glide my hand over her naked ass and relish in her naked body.

“So goddamn hot.” I squeeze her ass and then give it a light slap, pulling a moan straight from the depths of her throat. “If I were to reach between your legs right now, would I find you wet, ready for me?”

“Yes,” she groans, pushing her ass into my hand.

“Then spread wider for me.”

She does just that, spreading her legs and then sticking her ass higher in the air.

I glide my thumb down her crack to her arousal, where I’m rewarded with her slick pussy. “Such a good girl,” I say, smoothing two fingers over her clit. Her hands curl into fists as she gathers the comforter beneath her.

“Don’t tease me, Huxley.”

“Do you really think I would tease you at this point? My cock is as hard as stone seeing you like this. There’s no way I’d fucking tease you.”

“Show me how hard.”

Easy. I push my jeans and briefs down and take them off, along with my socks. My cock jolts upward, hard . . . ready. I grip the base and take a step forward to rub the tip along her slick arousal.

“Oh my God,” she says as she grips the comforter tighter. “Huxley, I want you inside me. Now.”

I want her too. So fucking bad. But I want to see her.

I grip her hips and twist her on the bed so she’s flipped to her back. She scoots upward, offering me room, so I climb onto the mattress as well and move toward the headboard with her. She’s waiting for me, legs spread and arms open wide, so I ease down onto her and prop my body up with my forearms, which cradle her head.

“You’re beautiful, Lottie. I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that, but you are. Fucking breathtaking.”

Her eyes go soft as she reaches up and presses her palm to my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers before pulling my mouth down to hers.

With a featherlight touch, she moves her lips against mine in a tantalizing, teasing performance giving me a little, but not giving me nearly enough of her delicious mouth. I growl in frustration, which causes her to smile and pull her lips away even more.

“Kiss me, Lottie. Let me taste those lips.”

“You sound as though you’ve been wanting these lips for a long time.”

I move my hand closer to her face so I can float my finger over her cheek. “I have been. Now let me fucking enjoy.”

Her smile grows even brighter and she tugs on my neck so my mouth swoops down on hers, and I capture her lips, claiming her with my kisses.

My mouth moves over hers with savage intensity, begging her for more but savoring every moment.

Her hand moves to the back of my head. With my thrusting tongue, I part her lips so that our tongues clash in heated passion.