My mouth drops open, a breathy moan toppling out. The sound makes his eyes widen and I see the struggle in the grey irises. I exhale again as I watch, with bated breath, as his control wanes.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, desire dripping off each syllable. Before I can react further, his lips are on mine, his large hands coupling the sides of my head. His tongue finds mine, brushing against it, teasing it, tempting it. It’s not so much a kiss but an intricate dance—one I’m clearly not leading.
He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa near the window. He drags me through the space, nearly knocking me off my heels, but I don’t complain. This is what I wanted. The faster the better. He sits on a plush sofa by the windows. Taking both of my hands in his, he positions me in front of him.
The light coming through the glass is muted. He’s features are half-hidden in the shadows, but I can still make out the broodiness of his eyes, the ticking of his jaw. His chest is rising and falling as quickly as mine.
He drops my hands, resting his elbows on his knees as a wicked smirk plays on his lips. My core burns with a desire that’s been allowed to burn for far too long. And the way he looks at me only adds more fuel to the fire. He, on the other hand, looks like there is no hurry at all.
He sweeps across my body. From head-to-toe, he takes in every inch of me.
“Take your dress off.”
I flush at the huskiness of his voice, the deep timbre that’s still smooth, yet now has a touch of grit.
“You’ve teased me all day. You’ve allowed other men to see your tight little body while I had to sit in a boardroom. It’s my turn.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he forces a swallow, keeping himself contained. “Take it off now, Brynne.”
Holding his gaze as my hands travel to the back of my neck, I feel for the zipper, the coolness a contrast to the red-hot look Fenton is giving me. Drawing the zipper down my back, I feel it hit the end. As I tip my shoulders forward, the dress drapes off my frame and bunches at my hips. I let my hands skirt my body from my breasts, roaming my curves until they hit the fabric. I push it down until it pools at my feet.
His eyes widen, but never leave mine.
“Step out of it,” he commands.
I do as asked. Dressed only in matching yellow panties and bra and a pair of nude heels, I step to the side and into a pool of light from the window. I’m inches away from him. I could reach out and touch him if I dared.
“I’m going to need your assurance that you won’t be parading around in a bikini without me again.” It’s not so much a command, although it most definitely is. But the feel of it is more of an accolade to my body and I can’t help but smile.
A giggle escapes my lips. Sashaying my hips, the action catching his attention, I move until I’m standing directly in front of him. Energy radiates off him, the sliver of space between us boiling over.
“Brynne?” His chin tilts so that he’s looking up at me. He doesn’t move to touch me, just waits on my response to his ridiculous request.
“Fenton,” I tease.
A growl is his response.
“Are you jealous?” I purr. “You haven’t even had me yet and you’re already thinking no one else should see me? How silly.”
“How do you not want me to be jealous? You’re beautiful and sexy and I have. To. Work. If I think someone else is getting to enjoy you, even just visually, when I can’t, it’s going to drive me insane.”
I take a deep breath, the air infused with testosterone and his cologne, a heady, complicated mixture that causes synapses to misfire. With a slight hesitation, knowing this is the point of no return, I reach out. My hands find the back of his head, my fingers winding in his thick, inky locks. His shoulders rise and fall as his breathing picks up pace. Encouraged, I straddle one of his legs.
“I can feel the heat off you,” he rasps. “You are so fucking hot.”
“Am I?” Ever so slowly, I bend until our faces are level and my lips find his. He tastes of heat and wine, a delicate blend of flavors that will always be my favorite. Our mouths move together, a soft kiss quickly turning ravenous. I squat just enough so my pussy brushes against his leg and that’s all it takes.
He starts to stand, but I’m not done. I’m not ready for the moment he takes control—and I know it’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. He’s dying to flip me over; I feel the need rolling off him. Fingers clenched at his sides, he struggles to maintain his composure.
I press my hands on his shoulders, my lips still working against his, but he powers through my objection and is quickly looming over me. I hiccup a breath, the exhale coming out in short, sputtered wisps.
An unapologetic smirk stretches across his swollen lips. “I think it’s time you get to know the real me.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That means you get to see the things I’ve wanted to do to you since I saw your picture on your phone. You get to see the me that’s not watered down for public consumption. Are you ready for that?”
Straightening my shoulders, I smile. “It’s about time.”