Fuck it. I throw my purse on the floor and turn around to kiss him back, grinding into the bulge in his jeans like my life depends on it. Making out with Flint is a lot like sparring in Krav Maga—intense, physically strenuous, and a total adrenaline rush—except neither of us is in pain and we both get to win.
“Oh my God,” I pant, pulling back for air. I want to eat this man alive. My pulse is pounding, and his gaze is dark with need.
“Do you need me to break down that door?” he asks. “’Cause I can’t wait any longer.”
Neither can I. And I’m just about ready to fuck him right here in the hallway, but by virtue of some actual miracle (or, you know, my purple monster keychain) I spot the keys lying on the floor, along with the rest of the contents of my bag, and I make Flint unlock the door as I hurriedly stuff everything back into my purse, both of us stumbling into my apartment with barely-contained desire.
He presses me up against the wall in the dark, dominant and a little rough, and I like it. “I want you,” he whispers, hiking my skirt up and slipping his hand in between my legs, his knuckles rubbing against my clit. “I’ve wanted you since I first met you.”
Gasping, I fumble at the buttons on his shirt, but I’m too full of lust and tequila to get them undone. In a move the Hulk would be proud of, Flint tears his shirt right off, and I hear buttons hit the floor. Fuck yes.
We somehow make it to the couch, mouths and hands tangling the entire way there. Flint pulls my blouse over my head and caresses my breasts through my lace bra, dipping his head down to suck my nipples through the thin fabric. I reach back and struggle to unclasp the hooks of my bra. The second I do, Flint’s mouth is on me again, his tongue circling my nipple. I groan, my clit throbbing with need, and throw my head back, desperately trying to think of a polite way to say ‘Fuck me.’
“Fuck me,” I groan. “Please.” Hey, at least I tried.
He leans over me and our eyes lock as I run my hands over his abs, the hard contours of his muscled torso. Then Flint picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“You tell me,” he says, his voice a low rumble in my ear.
“Second door on the left,” I direct, as he carries me down the hall to my bedroom. He kicks the door open and tosses me onto the bed, which thankfully I made up neatly this morning, and then unzips my skirt and slides it off.
I’m lying back on the down comforter in a pair of black lace underwear, staring dreamily up at Flint, who’s doing his best impersonation of a bare-chested god in Levi’s. As I watch him unbutton the fly of those 501s, one slow button at a time, I hear my breath coming in short gasps.
When he finally pushes his jeans down, I realize he’s gone commando all day long. The thought makes my pulse race—that and the sight of his perfect cock jutting toward me. When I sit up and reach for it, he wraps my hand around the shaft, hot and hard and throbbing in my grip. “Is this what you were waiting for?” he asks.
My attempt at ‘yes’ comes out like a whimper. He pushes me back onto the mattress and tears my panties off, grabbing my thighs to pull my pussy toward his mouth. His eyes are practically sparking in the dim light, lust and need mingling in his gaze.
“Too bad you can’t always get what you want,” he says, his breath warm against my skin as he looks up at me. “Not until I’m done, anyway.” His tongue traces a hot line up to my clit, circling softly before moving back down to my opening.
Oh God. “Yes,” I moan, lacing my fingers through his hair, pulling his head closer to me. “Fuck me with your mouth.” He spears into me with his tongue and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming as I roll my hips in time with his thrusts. My back arches as he finds a rhythm, his tongue flickering over my clit and then diving into my cunt over and over again. God, I needed this. Needed him.
Too soon I’m nearing the edge, flooded with pleasure, his moans reverberating against me. “Flint.” I’m breathless. “I’m going to come.”
He stops and pulls away and I gasp, deliciously frustrated by his sudden absence.
“Not yet, you aren’t.” Straightening, he climbs onto the bed, the firm press of his body settling onto mine, and gives me a maddeningly endless kiss.
I moan, writhing against him, hungry for more. When I reach for his cock he lets me take it in my hand, and I stroke its length firmly, pressing the hot head against my slick clit. He groans, and I feel his whole body stiffen, as if he’s waiting for something.
Our eyes lock and we breathe heavily, our bodies on edge, aching for each other. “Say you want this,” he commands, his cock so hard and so ready against me. “That it’s not just—because we were drinking, and it doesn’t mean anything…”
Behind his steely gaze, I see a flash of uncertainty. An uncertainty it is my bound duty to crush. Because all of a sudden, I’m more sober than I’ve ever been, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m thinking clearly. I want Flint McKay, and I want him now. Cross my heart, hope to die.