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My cock isn’t so picky, though. It fattens and stretches against her. The fabric of the dress is so fine, I feel like I’m rubbing against her skin.
Chapter Eight
Ella
I wasn’t prepared for the shock when his hand touched mine. Like my skin and his made something explosive on contact. The warm, intoxicating closeness of the scent of him catches me off guard, too.
When the slow, romantic beat started up, I thought I would just have some fun teasing him. Now I feel like somehow I’ve gotten drunk on him. I’ve never been in the arms of a man this hot before.
His voice is thick when he says, “Marina is a genius.” I think he’s just being awkward. Gawky, even.
I stay cool. “Is she?”
“Those copy lines, the hooks and stingers? Genius.”
“She didn’t write them.”
“Well, her team, then.”
“Nope.”
“So who did?”
“Me, Dickie.” I laugh. “I think that’s why she wanted me to bring out the envelope.”
I’m having too great a time. I don’t want it to end.
Then his body starts to move. But naturally, now. Like some ancient creature that’s been trapped in a glacier, thawing, heating up and coming to life. I’m not ready for the heat. Or the rhythm.
“Oh, Dickie.” I put a hand on the back of his neck. I want to pull him closer so I can whisper to him, You’ve got rhythm after all.
He turns his head, and I taste his breath as his lips brush past mine.
Our eyes catch and lock. And they won’t let go. I pull my lips in, between my teeth. He’s shaking his head. I am, too.
He opens his mouth to speak. I’m transfixed, watching his lips. I have to avoid them. Mine keep being too close to them.
He says something. His breath is in my mouth. I breathe in. Suck the air. His lips touch mine. We both turn. I get the feeling of his hot skin. That may be the only soft parts of him. We turn to move our mouths apart. But we both move the same way.
We pull apart. Again. His eyes say, Didn’t mean it. Mine say, Sorry.
His voice says, “My fault,” and our lips lock.
This time we both let them stay. Just for an instant.
Then quickly we peel apart.
And we kiss again. Kiss, snatching. Our tongues meet and flick together. Nipping. Biting. Pulling back.
Both looking away, we turn our heads. When we look back, his eyes hold mine. This time, there’s no stopping. He engulfs me.
His arms wrap around me. Folding me into him. We turn. Together. The sounds, the music, the room, all recede as we turn, twirl and then spin. I feel like our bodies rise, weightless, sparkling. Luminous.
He holds me, and I run my hands over his back, his ribs. I want more. The massive erection that I saw on the stage seems to be doubling in size. It pulses and zings against me.
For a few eternal moments, we turn, drift and glide together. As one, carried on currents of brimming emotion. Riding the music.
When we pull back, his face is a storm of arrogance, anger and sarcastic triumph.
