He’s back in front of me, lowering himself to the table and picking up his drink. ‘Better?’ he asks.
I’m sure if I could manage to rip my enthralled eyes off his torso I would find a look of superiority, but I can’t knock him for it. He is by far superior. ‘No.’ I drag my eyes up his body until I see him tipping his drink to those lips. Slowly. ‘How would this make me feel comfortable?’ I ask.
‘Because I’m casual.’
‘No, you’re half naked.’ I take another glimpse, my eyes greedy for him.
‘I’m still making you feel uncomfortable?’
‘Yes.’
He sighs and gets up, striding from the room again, but he doesn’t head towards his bedroom. He goes in the direction of the kitchen. I hear doors opening and closing for a few moments before he’s back with me, sitting on the table in front of me with a tray in his hand. He places it down next to him, and I note that it’s full of rocks and ice.
‘What are they?’ I ask, leaning forward to watch him. He swivels the tray, selects a rock and repositions his body forward, holding it out to me.
‘Let’s see if we can loosen you up, Livy.’
‘How? What are they?’ I nod to the rock in his hand, now noticing that it’s concave on one side and has some sort of jelly shimmering in the pearlescent shell.
‘Oysters. Open up.’ He inches forward and I inch back, my face screwing up in disgust.
‘No, thank you,’ I say politely. I don’t know much about the shellfish, but I do know they’re obscenely expensive and, supposedly, an aphrodisiac. I don’t plan on finding out, though, because they look repulsive.
‘Have you tried them before?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘Then you must.’ He moves in closer, not giving me much more retreating space. ‘Open.’
‘You try first,’ I suggest, trying to buy myself some time.
He shakes his head, a little exasperated. ‘As you wish.’
‘I do.’
He watches me as he slowly tips the oyster to his mouth, his head falling back, but his eyes holding mine. His neck lengthens and his throat is taut and totally kissable. Then he swallows painfully slowly and an unfamiliar bang lands between my thighs, making me shift. Oh f**k, he looks too sexy. I feel hot.
He dumps the rock, grabs the front of my T-shirt in his fist and yanks me forward onto his mouth, catching me by complete surprise, but there is nothing I can or want to do to stop him. His hungry invasion is met with equal intent from me. I find his na**d shoulders and relish in my first experience of his bare flesh under my palms. It’s better than I imagined. His tongue is working through my mouth fervently, and I can do nothing more than accept, tasting the saltiness of the oyster, until he breaks our kiss and removes my hands from his shoulders, him panting, me gasping.
‘That wasn’t a result of the oyster,’ he heaves, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling me forward, his nose meeting mine. ‘That was a result of you sitting here in front of me with a look of pure desire in your exquisite eyes.’
I want to tell him that he has that look too, but I quickly stop myself, considering, perhaps, that he may just look at all women like that, or maybe it’s just the way he looks full stop. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, instead choosing to continue with my fitful breaths as he holds me in place.
‘I’ve just paid you a compliment.’
‘Thank you,’ I murmur.
‘You’re welcome. Are you ready to let me worship you, Olivia Taylor?’
I nod as he slowly moves forward, his blues flicking from my mouth to my eyes constantly until his lips are lightly brushing over mine, but this time he’s relaxed and tender with his taking, gently seducing my mouth as he rises, encouraging me to stand with him, before he holds my nape once more and starts walking forward, forcing me to step back. I let him guide me until we’re entering his bedroom and I’m feeling his bed at the back of my knees, and the whole time he holds our mouths together. He’s an extraordinary kisser, overwhelmingly good, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. If this is a sign of things to come, then I hope the next twenty-four hours last for ever. I’m bursting at the seams with desire, matching him. Sensibility has vanished again.
His hand leaves my neck and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, lifting it and breaking our mouth contact to get it past my head so I’m forced to release his shoulders and lift my arms. My lingering concern for my lack of sexy underwear is long forgotten. I can’t seem to focus on anything except him, his passion and his energy. It’s all-consuming, leaving no room for anxiousness or hesitation. Or, more importantly, that sensible gene that seems to have disappeared into thin air under his attention.
‘Do you feel better?’ he asks, breathing down on me, his groin pressing into my stomach.
‘Yes,’ I gasp, clenching my eyes shut, trying to comprehend what’s happening.
‘Don’t deprive me of your eyes, Livy.’ His hands encase my cheeks. ‘Open.’