Chapter 7
I’VE KISSED HUNDREDS OF GIRLS. No—make that thousands. I only really remember a handful of them. But this kiss? This is one I won’t forget any time soon.
She tastes…Jesus, I’ve never done drugs, but I imagine this is what that first snort of cocaine feels like, that first shot of heroine. Goddamn addictive.
Our lips clash and move over one another, angry and wet.
I can’t stop touching her. My hands are everywhere: her face, her hair, down her back, grasping at her hips. Pulling her closer, desperate to feel more of her—wanting her to feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
Needing air, I rip my mouth from hers and attack her neck. I feast on her, like a starving man. And that’s exactly what I am—ravenous—for her. I inhale as I lick, suck, and nibble my way from her jaw to her ear.
She’s whimpering incoherently, but I get the idea. The sound of her voice, wild and sexy, makes me groan. And her scent. Sweet Christ, she smells like…flowers and sugar. Like one of those decorative confectionary roses on the top of a cake.
F*cking delicious.
And her hands aren’t idle either. She grasps my biceps, and the heat of her hands seeps through my dress shirt. She scrapes her nails down my back and dips her fingers below the waist of my slacks, first grazing then cupping my ass.
I’m dying. I’m burning. My blood is liquid f*cking fire, and I feel like we’re going to go up in smoke before we ever make it to the couch. Kate gasps as I draw her earlobe into my mouth and dance across the flesh below it with my tongue.
“Drew? Drew, what are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” I moan in a rough voice. “Just…don’t stop touching me.”
She doesn’t.
And I’m back at her mouth. Plunging my tongue into her, sliding it against hers in the same way I’m dying to slide my cock into her wet, welcoming body. I feel her hips push forward against mine. And any blood left in my body descends, making me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
Weeks of want and frustration are coursing through me. I’ve brushed with Colgate for far too long—and it’s tasted like shit.
“Do you know how much I want this? Want you? God, Kate…I’ve f*cking dreamed about this…begged for it. You make me…ah, I can’t get…enough of you.”
Her hands are on my chest now, rubbing, scratching, moving down my abs, until one brushes against the front of my pants and I hiss in pure agonizing pleasure. Before I can inhale, she’s stroking my dick through my pants, and I thrust forward. Any semblance of control or finesse is gone.
My hands come up to her breasts, and she arches her back to bring them closer. I squeeze, and she moans again. I skim across where I know her nipples are, frustrated by her blouse and bra. I want to tug and pinch those beauties until they’re two sharp peaks. Her mouth is on my neck, kissing, and I raise my chin.
It’s never been like this. I’ve never been like this. I’ve never felt so much for any woman, no matter that it’s a mixture of anger and lust.
“Drew…Drew, I can’t do this. I love Billy,” she pants.
Her confession doesn’t affect me like you’d think it would. Mostly because she still has one hand on my cock when she says it. Her actions speak the complete opposite of her voice. Hands and hips that are pulling me closer, stroking me, pleading for more.
“That’s good, Kate. Fine. Love Billy. Marry Billy. Just please…God…please just f*ck me.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying. Don’t even know if I’m making sense. One thought and one only drums in my head like a primal melody:
More.
I bring my chin down, wanting to taste her mouth again. But instead of her lips…I make contact with her palm. I open my eyes to find her hand covering my mouth, blocking me. Her chest is heaving, rising and falling in brisk, rapid pants.
And then I see her eyes. And I feel like I just took a wrecking ball to the chest. Because her eyes are wide with panic…and confusion. I try to say her name, but it’s muffled by her hand.
I hear a sob in her voice as she says, “I can’t do this, Drew. I’m sorry. Billy…this job…this is my life. My whole life. I…I can’t.”
She’s trembling. And suddenly, my need, my lust, and my still-raging hard-on are all pushed to the backburner, behind the overwhelming desire to comfort her. To tell her it’s okay. Everything will be all right.
Anything. I’ll say anything to take that look off her face.
But she doesn’t give me the chance. The moment she takes her hand off my mouth, she runs out the door. And she’s gone before I can draw a breath. I should go after her. I should tell her it’s okay that she put the brakes on. That this hasn’t—and won’t—change anything. Though that’s one big fat lie, and we both know it, don’t we?
But I don’t follow Kate. And the reason is simple: Have you ever tried to run with a boner staring up at you?
No?
Well, it’s damn near impossible.
I collapse onto the couch and rest my head back. Looking up at the ceiling, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers. How is it that something as simple as sex just became so frigging complicated? I don’t know either.
Christ, I’m so hard. I want to cry—I’ll admit it. I’m not ashamed. I want to weep from the throbbing ache in my groin that will have no relief. The idea of going out and finding a substitute for Kate never even enters my head. Because my dick knows what my brain is just starting to admit.
There is no substitute for Kate Brooks. Not for me. Not now.
I look down at the tent in my lap. The one that shows no indication of going down any time soon.
It’s going to be a long, long night.