“Because you’re so beautiful,” I answered, slipping under that spell I always felt with him. I wasn’t tongue-tied anymore, but there was still something kind of magical about him that would never go away.
“You’re beautiful,” he countered—and just like that, his lips were on mine. Slow and sweet, he kissed me like we were in a meadow all alone, not a care in the world. When in truth, we were surrounded by hundreds of people on a crowded city street in Manhattan. People with shopping bags banging into my shins, tourists with camera phones pointed up crashed into us as they tried to capture their New York City experience. And people from the neighborhood, just out to enjoy their Saturday, were grumbling for us to get a room, take it inside.
But it didn’t matter. Because when that man kissed me, it was magic. And I was 100 percent under his spell. When he finally pulled his mouth away from mine, I could see how hungry he was.
“How far is your place?”
“If we drive your truck, we’ll spend an hour looking for a parking space.”
“If we do it your way?”
“We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
He bent down and nipped my neck. “Ten minutes, then.”
I got him there in eight.
As soon as I closed the front door he pressed me up against it, holding me there with the strength of his body as he kissed me fast and furious. He bared my breasts quickly, ripping my shirt and scattering buttons. With his mouth closing around one nipple and his left hand teasing the other, his right hand unsnapped my jeans, tugged down the zipper, and shoved inside.
I’d been turned on all day and cried out at his touch, gasping when his fingers found me, stroking and petting, his thumb rubbing my clit and working two fingers inside me, already soaked. My back arched, trying to get closer to him, my hips riding his fingers.
Panting and chanting, I came hard and fast, my legs trapped inside my jeans, unable to do anything but ride the orgasm, totally at his mercy.
Before the first one ended, he was already chasing a second. Kneeling in front of me, he slipped my heels from my feet, pausing to admire the four inches of red leather Prada I’d been prancing around in all day.
“You wore these to tease me today, didn’t you? Don’t lie,” he chided, tugging my jeans over my hips, watching my breasts bounce, having been liberated from my white lace bra only moments earlier.
“I wore these for me. I love these shoes, and I love what happens to me when I wear them.”
“And what is that?” he asked, pulling my jeans off and sliding his hands up the inside of my thighs.
“When I wear shoes like this, I get fucked,” I whispered, trailing my fingers over my breasts, the tips still sensitive from his mouth and his teeth.
“And how do you like to get fucked?” he asked, slipping his hands underneath the bands on my hips, pulling my panties down along my legs, nuzzling the outline of where they had just been.
“Hard,” I moaned, as he kissed the soft mound just above my clit—his favorite pillow, he’d once told me. “And filthy.”
His lips found mine, spearing me with his tongue, licking and sucking, burying his face as my back arched once more. Lifting his head, he circled my clit with his tongue, still so sensitive but so receptive to everything he was doing. He knew my body like his own. “Tall ceilings.”
“What?” I panted, confusion clouding through the delicious things he was doing.
“You’ve got tall ceilings,” he told my skin, his hands sliding up the backs of my legs to grab my ass, pushing me harder into his face.
“Ten feet. They don’t make them like this . . . oh Christ . . . anymore,” I managed with a groan as he lifted his face once more. “Stop doing that! Get back down there.”
“Hold on to my shoulders,” he said, and before I knew what was happening, I was airborne. Oscar lifted me straight up into the air, pushed me up against the door once more, and wrapped my legs around his shoulders. Now, eye level with his favorite pillow, he grinned.
“Hold on to something,” he instructed.
My head was practically bumping the ceiling. As I scrambled to get my fingers latched on to the thick crown molding, he held me in place and fucked me with his tongue until I was shaking.
While I was seeing stars, he gave the insides of each of my thighs a bite, then slid me down his body, took us both to the floor, setting me on top of him, legs astride.
“Get my zipper, would you?” he asked, lying back with his arms tucked behind his head, a giant grin on his face.
“As you wish, Caveman,” I replied gleefully, unzipping and bringing him forth. He groaned as I stroked him, marveling once more at how perfect he was, how perfect he felt in my hands. I still felt a little dizzy, but he was so very hard and so very ready, and I really did deserve another . . .