Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

The word echoed. Reminding her that now was all anyone ever had. This moment. Make the most of it. Go for more than okay, and do it right now. No guilt—only pleasure, only passion, only the present.

She threaded her hand into the back of his hair, feeling those soft, dark strands on her flesh, and he groaned. Low, barely audible. Just for her.

“Come closer and kiss me,” she murmured, and he obliged, dipping his head and kissing her like they were the only two people on the plane—flying across the sky, leaving Vegas far behind, and heading to a new adventure.

*

Michael Sloan had always been perfectly content to fly commercial. First class was great, but he’d never longed for a private jet. Not that he’d have minded one, but it was along the lines of a yacht or a mansion—nice to admire in a magazine, but wholly unnecessary for his happiness.

That was no longer the case. A private jet was the only thing in the world he wanted right now. No, want was too small a word for it. He fucking craved it like air. Because this kiss was different. It was as hot as all their others, but it was something more, too. It was crazed and beautiful. It was hungry and full of regret. For years gone by. For missed connections. For the past and for the present. It was as if everything that could have been between them was bottled up, stored and aged to perfection, all for this one kiss. With her hand on the back of his head, she kissed him deeply, but tenderly, too.

The wildness at the nightclub was gone. The frenzy of the dressing room had slunk away. They would return, but right now this was a kiss that made him a little drunk, like his body was buzzing with some kind of sweet opiate, and that opiate was her. He wanted to pull her on top of him, run his hands over her soft flesh, unzip her jeans, and then slide into her. Wanted to watch her fuck him here on the plane. To enjoy the view of her straddling him, riding him, slow and unhurried, lingering and lovely, as she rose up and down on his cock.

He loved and hated this moment.

This was just a fucking kiss.

But it was so much more.

He’d never kissed like this before. Fierce and greedy. Needy and dreamy.

He wanted to live in this kiss.

At some point, he broke the contact, because he had to. Because another second of her kisses would be too much. He brushed her hair away from her ear. “You keep doing that, and we’re going to be putting on a show.”

She grinned naughtily. “I think we already did,” she said, glancing clandestinely over her shoulder. Some of the other passengers seemed particularly engrossed in their screens and books, as if the sight of the two of them devouring each other had been too much to bear.

“Tell me something,” he whispered, “how do you say ‘I want you so much’?”

“In French?”

He nodded.

“Je te veux tellement.”

He repeated it close to her ear, flicking the tip of his tongue over her earlobe as he said those words to her.

She shivered visibly. “Mon dieu. I love the way you say that.”

“But see, Annalise,” he said, running his index finger across her top lip, “I love the way you say it. I want to make you feel that way.”

“You do,” she whispered, her accent thickening, and he knew she was heading down the same path he was already on.

He slid into another question. “How do you say ‘fuck me harder’?”

She shivered and answered, “Baise-moi plus fort.”

He didn’t repeat it. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow. “Good. Now I know how it sounds in your regular voice, so I can have a baseline for comparison when you say it later while I’m inside you.”

Shuddering, she ran a hand down her front, then whispered, her voice heated, as if she were in the throes of passion, “Baise-moi plus fort.”

Lust slammed into him from all corners of the world. He bent his head to her shoulder, dusting the barest kiss on her collarbone. “You’ll be saying that later, won’t you?”

She nodded, a small, sexy sigh escaping her lips. “I will.”

“How wet are you right now?”

“So wet.”

“How much do you want to be fucking me on this plane?”

“So incredibly much.”

“Is it driving you as crazy as it’s making me?”

She opened her eyes. Hers were shining with desire as she whispered the words to him. “Insane. I’m insane with wanting you.”

Soon enough, the plane landed, and twenty minutes after that they were in the town car he’d reserved. He raised the partition, and in seconds her hands were on his pants, unzipping them.

Well, he wasn’t going to say no to that.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


She was a sexy vixen. A fiery lover—a woman who liked to take and who, evidently, liked to give, too, judging from how she rubbed her palm against the outline of his erection.

“Last night,” she said, breathy and sexy, her lips near his neck, “I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of you. What you did to me in the dressing room.”

“Yeah?”