I prop the bat against the wall, whip the door open, and step outside, finger hovering over the last 1.
And see Smith turning the corner on the sidewalk away from me.
“Smith,” I find myself calling out as the tension leaks from my body. I exhale hard in sheer relief. Thank God. Not Roger at all. But why is he here?
He spins to me and seems hesitant to walk back in my direction, pausing for a moment. When he nears me, he says, “I woke you up, didn’t I. It was a dumb impulse to come here so late at night. But…” I can’t see his eyes well in the dark; they’re hooded, unreadable.
I turn my phone off and stick it in my back pocket. “But?” I nudge him.
“But I can’t stop tasting you in my mouth and I needed more.” Smith stares at me hard, not moving still, just sexy as hell and intense, the streetlights glinting off his dark blond hair.
Fuck. My pulse jumps in response to his reply. That’s the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. I draw in a steadying breath. Earlier I wondered if I’d have to make the next move. But he’s here, and I’m not letting him get away.
I step forward and let myself gingerly stroke the column of his throat, his Adam’s apple, right below the clean line of his beard. The knot jumps under my fingers as he swallows. I stare up at his mouth. “I want more, too,” I admit to him. Let my fingers dance up to his lower lip and glide it along the smooth flesh there. I force myself to also admit, “I…I touched myself in bed thinking about it.”
There’s a long moment where neither of us move, and then he darts his tongue out to taste my fingertips. And before I realize what’s happening, Smith’s hands are around my waist and he’s pushing me in the apartment, the door thudding closed behind us. He blindly fumbles with the doorknob lock behind him, tugs the phone out of my back pocket, puts it on the small table.
“I need to fuck you, Aubrey,” he states bluntly. There’s no shyness in him like there is in me. Smith owns his sexuality, and it’s so alluring.
“Yes,” I tell him. I want it, too. As soon as I saw him out there, all my fear had vanished, replaced by the vision of Smith. He’s here. He’s really here. Seeking me out. I did this to him, made him find me after work. A small, feminine thrill runs along my skin.
Smith pushes my hair to one side and his tongue strokes my neck. I shudder, and he sucks the wet area. “I need to taste every fucking inch of your body.”
When he says it, I feel like he legitimately means every inch. The thought has my pussy clenching. I don’t speak, just nod, let his mouth drift along my throat, up my jawline, him giving me small licks and sucks everywhere.
Then he stops and grabs the hem of my shirt, jerking it over my head in one smooth move. “Fuck,” he groans as he sees my bare breasts—in my hurry earlier, I didn’t bother to put on a bra.
My chest is heaving under his heavy scrutiny. I refuse to squirm, just let him get his fill. He reaches up, cups their weight, gives a soft squeeze that has me gasping, arching under his fingers.
“Take your jeans off,” he tells me, stepping back.
I remove the jeans, letting them slide down my bare hips, puddling on the ground. I’m now fully naked before this man, while he’s still completely clothed. The vulnerability should make me uncomfortable, but instead, I’m throbbing and wet at the thought of what’s going to come next.
Smith gives me a slow smile and moves one hand to stroke the back of my neck. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, and something in those words unfurls a need in my core. I want to hear him say that to me again and again.
I don’t have much sexual experience, but if I can please him by doing these small things, I will.
Smith’s hand strokes down my spine, a smooth movement ending at my hip. That heat, the promise, are in his eyes. My breath catches.
“Are you…going to get undressed?” I asked him.
His lip curls in one corner. “All in good time. I need to taste more of you first. Take me to your bedroom, sweetheart.”
I slip my hand into his, feeling my heart give a strange squeeze at the gesture, and lead him to my room. The lights are still off, the sheets in disarray. He takes me to what is obviously my side of the bed, from the dent in the pillow, and gently nudges me down to sitting.
The light is thin in here, but I can see him somewhat, his strong frame, the darkness of his tattoos. I want to ask him to strip and let me touch them, but a bigger part of me wants to wait and see what happens.