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I couldn’t stop the look; I couldn’t even attempt to fade it away.
I was too focused on his hard-on, too shocked that he was standing in the doorway of his hotel room without a stitch of clothing on, unfazed if anyone walked by.
Was that cocky?
Or confident?
I couldn’t remember what he’d said about the difference.
Not when I was obsessively staring at his dick. The tip, glistening with a bead of pre-cum, widened at the crown; the center girthier than any I’d ever seen; a length that would positively fill me; and there were more veins, like the ones in his arms; and short hairs that surrounded it, similar to his beard.
“This is what you do to me, Lily.” He circled his hand around his shaft and pumped.
Once.
Twice.
He paused to say, “Do you want it?”
My eyes lifted unhurriedly. “When I called you cocky on the plane, I had no idea you were this cocky.”
He released a huff of air. “Come in so I can get you naked.”
The second I crossed the threshold, I was in his arms. Our gazes locked even though his was several inches higher, the top of my head meeting the arch of his chest. He held my waist as he guided me toward the wall, and once my back was against it, his palms went to my face.
“I’ve been thinking about these lips since JFK.”
That felt like years ago.
“Since I saw you in the airport, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” His forehead was pressed to mine, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “You blew me the fuck away, so you can guess how happy I was when I saw you were working my flight.”
I pushed my head back just enough that my mouth was pointed up at his. “I didn’t see you.”
“You wouldn’t have. I was behind you.”
“Except I always look behind me … and I would have noticed you.”
“You did once you brought me the scotch, didn’t you?”
His face moved to my neck, his lips gently grazing the skin between the collar of my sweater and my earlobe. Just enough movement and friction that my hips shifted forward, my back bending backward.
“You couldn’t take your fucking eyes off me. Was this what you were thinking about?” A hand lowered to my side, gradually going down. “What it would feel like if my body was pressed to yours?” His hand stopped at my waist. “What it would feel like if my dick was grinding against your clit?” His fingers moved to the front of me, cupping the zipper of my jeans, his strength so firm that it felt like there wasn’t any clothing separating us. “What it would feel like if I was inside of you, hitting that sweet spot, making you come so fucking hard?”
I shuddered. “Mmm.”
“I thought so.”
He was barely doing anything, hardly touching me, yet it already felt so good.
“My plan was to pour us some drinks and get you to relax a little. I had a feeling you would need it. But now that I’m touching your pussy, I can hear it purring, telling me it’s more than ready.” His lips moved to my cheek. “You don’t need booze. What you need is my goddamn tongue.”
Clothes were suddenly stripped from my body. It happened so fast; I didn’t even have time to take a breath before I was lifting my feet for him to pull off my shoes. My jeans were gone, my sweater removed. When all that was left were my bra and panties, he took a step back.
Like an artist who was standing too close to his canvas, he needed space to see the entire picture.
That was the way he made me feel. As though I were art.
And with his lips widening into a grin, his hand fisting his cock and stroking, a deep, guttural approval came from his throat, which told me he really liked what he saw.
