“Sir?” the saleswoman prompted again.
“The black and white diamond pendant,” I said, smiling as I reread Lucy’s messages; I glanced over my shoulder at the woman. “I’ll take it as well.”
***
Once upstairs, I ordered champagne from room service and had a shower to wash off the day. I also beat off, needing some release from the perpetual case of Lucy Fitzpatrick-inspired blue balls. It didn’t help much.
But she would be here soon.
My attention caught on the small box I’d placed on the nightstand next to the bed. Originally, I’d left it on the bar. Then I’d moved it to the table in the sitting area. After trying out the desk in the bedroom, the counter in the bathroom, and the center of the bed, I’d settled on the nightstand.
I was just about to relocate it back to the table in the sitting area when I heard her knock sound from the hallway. Smirking at her refusal to use the key, I jogged to the door and opened it.
“You didn’t answer my text messages,” she accused, leaning against the doorframe, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn at dinner. These were the same clothes I’d almost successfully breached in the loo at Tom’s little restaurant. I might not have liked Tom, but I would always have fond memories of a certain bathroom stall on the premises.
“I was busy,” I said, sounding oddly out of breath to my own ears.
Her attention lowered to my chest, eyebrows lifting. “And you’re in a towel.”
“Yes. Let’s fix that.” I reached for her without further preamble. She came to me willingly, didn’t protest when I brought my mouth to hers, pressed the length of her against me, and kicked the door shut.
Lucy was pliant and tasted sweet, so unbelievably delicious. I groaned when her tongue slid along mine, an acute hunger I’d been endeavoring to discount raged unchecked. The flimsy top she wore frustrated my need for her skin. I reached under the hem and smoothed my hands up her sides to her ribs. Satisfaction came in the form of her whimpers when I lifted her bra, bent my head to her nipple, and sucked on her through the fabric of her shirt.
“Sean . . .” she panted, her nails digging into the back of my head, holding me to her chest. “Ah, wait. Wait a minute.”
She was here, beneath my fingers, mine for the night. All my earlier plans were eclipsed by the reality of her and my ferocious need to make her feel good.
“Would you like me to go down on you first?” I blew on the wet patch of her shirt, an instinctive growl reverberating through my chest as I watched the nipple strain and pebble.
I wanted to devour her.
“Oh, well, if you insist . . .” she squeaked, her pelvis tilting against my leg even as we stumbled backward toward the living room.
I popped open her jeans button, savoring the succulent sweetness of her mouth, pushing my hand into her knickers, greedy to feel the wet slickness between her thighs, and growling once more when I found her ready.
She sighed, rolling her hips as I stroked her with my middle finger. So luscious. So soft. So hot.
“Or do you want my cock first?” I whispered. “Should I make love to you from behind? Shall I bend you over? Do you want to kneel as I enter you? Would that make you feel good?”
“Christ, Sean,” she gasped against my mouth, holding my wrist in place as I slid my finger around her clit, keeping my touch teasing and gentle. “Have you been taking lessons from someone else?”
She meant it as a joke, I was certain.
But it angered me.
Tension pulsed through my veins and my arm constricted around her waist. The movements of my fingers ceased. I waited until she opened her eyes, at first foggy with lust, then focused on me, before responding.
“No, Lucy. There is only you.” My anger seeped through the words. I watched as she swallowed and blinked.
“Sean, I—”
“Only you. Only me.” I didn’t comprehend the impulse, but I needed her to understand, to know. I thought of no one else.
Lucy swallowed. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with determination, an acceptance that heightened, rather than eased, my frustration.
“Only tonight,” she whispered, making me frown even as her hand came to my jaw and guided my mouth to hers. She brushed a soft kiss over my lips.
Not enough.
I deepened it, chasing her mouth as she smoothed her hand over my shoulder, scratching her nails down my chest and stomach, dipping her fingertips into the towel wrapped at my waist.
I needed more of her skin, so I allowed our bodies to separate just long enough to discard her shirt and bra, for her to step out of her jeans and sandals and lacy knickers. Sampling bites, savoring her neck, the side of her breast, I maneuvered her against the wall as I lowered to my knees on the plush carpet. I held her body in place and my mouth watered at the promise of her taste.