As I grip the doorknob, the steady pulse between my legs continues to throb. By the time I pull the door open and quietly cross the room toward the bed, my heart races at full speed.
I’ve never been to such a luxurious or empty apartment. He’s like some Spartan, with no belongings. I glimpsed his closet and he has the same three shirts, the same three jackets, same three style of shoes. Like some sort of methodical superhero—and as if he doesn’t plan to stay long?
A pang hits me at the thought, but it’s quickly replaced with the bolt of lust I feel at the sight of him. He’s leaning back in bed, one lean arm folded behind his head as he stares out the window.
Oh god, why do I like that so much? Because he’s staring at your building.
The fact that he can see me from here might make me feel protected even when he never calls. Even if he will never look me up again. I need that little feeling of safety and I cling to it.
“Can you see my apartment from here?” I ask. I start pulling down the side zipper of my dress. He turns to me, and a twinkle of moonlight catches in his eyes as he watches me approach. My heart thuds. He has a massive, self-confident presence, and an air of authority that makes my knees wobbly. He’s strong. Magnetizing. Vital. And he fills my whole being with crazy, wild wanting.
“Yeah, that’s why I got this place.”
I know he’s joking, but the words are sober—he’s looking straight into my eyes. “You’d think a player like you would have something better to do than stare out the window trying to get a glimpse of me,” I tease.
“I do more than stare out the window, princess. It involves me taking off my gloves.”
Bastard.
Fucking delicious bastard.
He’s like riding a motorcycle at full speed. He feels like the engine, the ride . . . the wind . . .
I stop by the foot of the bed and I feel a ripple of excitement when I notice the way he watches me, his eyes shimmering like lightning.
“Strip me, or strip for me. Lady’s pick.” He speaks calmly and succinctly, making no move to yank me down on him.
Really now? So confident of this magnetic, electric pull, tugging me to him?
My gaze greedily runs up and down his thick legs, the bulge I’m mad over, up to his chest, which stretches the material of his snowy white shirt in the best possible way. Feeling heavy and warm, my pulse thundering in my veins, I crawl over him, his gaze boring into me with silent expectation.
“I think you’re a bastard. But you’re so sexy in this suit . . .” I whisper as I start working his belt off his slacks, straddling him so that if I wanted to, I could drop my hips and rub the most painful spot in my body against that big, delicious bulge on his lap. “And I want to fuck you hard because you made me think you were better, you made me think you wanted me for more than this,” I add. “Asshole.”
He grabs his belt when I pull it free, tosses it aside with a clatter, and then moves like lightning, rolling me to my back, and whipping out my arms to pin them over my head. I gasp, and he smiles. “Caught you,” he rasps, sliding a hand down the inside of my arm. Starting to pant from the delicious weight of his body pressing down on mine, I wiggle my hand free, pull his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks, and start unbuttoning his shirt from the very bottom, hurrying to the top.
He releases my wrist and slowly pushes my dress up to my hips. “You have a filthy mouth, Melanie. Did you know that I can fill it with come, just like that, so the next sound you make is that of you swallowing?”
“Maybe the next sound is you yelling when I bite the head of your thick pink cock,” I breathe and my thoughts scatter when he growls, “Shut up now,” and kisses me. Hard and deliciously.
The actual next sound in the room is nothing but wet, slippery tongues meshing, rasping of fabric as he pulls my dress higher. I melt beneath his mouth, hot and powerful and more ravenous than any mouth that’s ever fitted itself to mine . . . and it truly feels like all we’ve said means nothing, that this means everything.
His scent fills me like a warmth curling in my tummy as he hikes my skirt up to my waist to expose my lacy black thong. The air caresses my bare ass cheeks, and the next second, he’s palming them in his warm hands.
“Are you happy to see me now, Melanie?” he murmurs, his voice low and textured as he uses my ass to draw me flat up against him.
I whimper, I’m so turned on. “Not yet,” I lie.
He brushes his lips across mine, teasing me. “You sure?”
Once again, his lips make a pass over mine, warm, velvety.
My blood feels thick and hot in my veins. Suddenly I can’t think of anything that I want more than this one, one kiss. But I can never let a man like him know it or he’ll break me.
“I’m sure,” I lie again, holding on to the back of his strong neck as I flick my tongue out to run it along the seam of his lips.
That lick proves to be our undoing.
He groans and comes out to play with my tongue with his, his lips closing over mine at the most perfect angle. A shudder runs through us both. It even feels like we groan at the same time, our kiss degrading from slow and sensual to fast and raw. I unbutton the rest of his shirt, my hands trembling from the rush. He grabs the top of my strapless dress and yanks it down to my waist, exposing every part of my body except for where the silk of my dress circles my hips.
When he edges back to look at my not-so-large breasts, but my rather outspoken nipples, I’m almost drowning with a sudden shyness.