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The sound of laughter drifts up, and the deep bass of music has the walls buzzing. Anyone could find us here, see him pulling down my top. As if he’s thinking the same thing, Baylor shifts his weight, sheltering my body from view with his own. That small gesture of consideration breaks my resistance.
Biting my lip, I arch my back at the very second he tugs again. My nipple pops free.
Baylor makes a sound that’s guttural. His breath is a rasp in my ear as his big hand cups my breast. The pleasure of his touch is so acute, it’s a relief, and then it’s far from that. I ache for more, and so deep down, that my sex clenches.
He doesn’t move, just stares at his tanned hand against the white of my breast, my pink nipple jutting out just over his fingers, as if he’s trying to make sense of things. Or maybe he’s just savoring the moment. His tongue darts out, and he licks his lower lip. Jesus, I want to lick it too.
The blunt tip of his thumb brushes over my nipple. Once, twice. He presses down.
A bolt of hot, sharp pleasure shoots to the empty space between my legs.
With a cry, I sag, slipping down the wall, my knees knocked out from under me. But he’s there, wrapping an arm around my waist. He holds me up. Holds me still. Gentle fingertips bracket my jaw and tilt my head up. I meet his eyes. Lust there, dark like burnt sugar. His gaze settles on my lips.
He dips his head, his breath buffeting my cheeks as he comes for me. Without thinking, I wrench my head to the side.
“No. Not on the lips.” It hurts to say it because the greater part of me is screaming. Yes. Now. Please.
But I can’t. A deep, undeniable instinct tells me that if he kisses my mouth, I’ll lose all resistance to him.
He hesitates, his brow furrowing. His gaze darts over my face, going from my lips and back to meet my eyes. A growl of frustration escapes him, then he swoops down.
My heart leaps, but his mouth lands on my neck, just above my shoulder. And I can’t think anymore. Just his lips touching my skin has me breaking out in goose bumps. He kisses my neck the way he’d kiss my mouth, open, wet, like he’s been hungering for this, waiting for this. Kisses tinged with anger. Like it’s a punishment for my refusal to let him have a proper kiss. Maybe it is, but it doesn’t matter because it feels so damn good that I’m not going to complain.
Hard kisses rain down over my shoulder, along my chest. He sinks to his knees as he goes. A brief, suckling kiss on my exposed nipple makes my entire body twitch, but he’s moving south, his hands caressing my sides, sliding over my hips. Calloused fingers trail up the backs of my thighs, gathering my skirt, lifting it up.
Oh, God. My breath hitches, an audible sound that catches his attention. Defiance is in his eyes, but I can stop him if I want to. The knowledge is thick and heavy between us.
I don’t move, much less protest. I’m so ready for him, I can’t stand it. If we stop now, it might all dissolve. Illicit excitement is a drug in my veins. The wall is cold against my heated shoulder blades, and I lean into it, trying not to crumple.
He watches me pant, and inches the skirt up, and up. Until my soaking panties are exposed.
I’m so wet there the air feels cold. As if he scents my desire, his nostrils flare, and he finally looks. He groans as though in pain. “Fuck. Holy fuck.”
My upper thighs are wet.
Fisting my skirt in one massive hand, he uses the other to ease my legs apart. I comply without protest. I want him to touch me so badly that I shake. My clit pulses in time with my heartbeat.
His fingers tug aside my panties before his thumb presses into my wet, swollen lips. I bite back a moan, as the world spins around me.
Baylor takes it all in, his thumb slowly stroking, slip-sliding through slick arousal. Holding my gaze, he leans closer, his lips nearly touching my aching flesh. “Stop me.”
My heart is in my throat. I want this so much, my voice is as rough as sand. “Stop yourself.”
He doesn’t. Doesn’t even try. Before I can take my next breath, his mouth is on my sex.
White lights pop beneath my lids, and I groan low and long. I can’t take it. The pleasure almost hurts.
Gritting my teeth, I grab the short, silken hairs on his head as if he can anchor me, keep me from spiraling into the dark vortex of need that’s pulling me down. But I can’t keep still. My hips rock against his mouth, the tight seam of my wrenched-aside panties rubbing my ass in a tormenting counterpoint to his tongue.
“Yeah,” he whispers against my skin. “Fuck yeah. Ride my mouth, Jones.”
Crude words that make me burn hotter. Sweat trickles between my breasts. My thighs tremble, and my sex throbs. I’m whimpering, incoherent, my hips writhing.
The hall is a dark tunnel, the party loud below us. Our exposed position has my heart threatening to pound out of my chest and highlights what he’s doing to me. The luscious wet sounds he makes, the little groans. The rough stubble on his jaw sanding my inner thigh, and the heat of his mouth. He’s feasting on me.
His big hand holds my hips. I can’t get away. I’m his. When his thick finger plunges inside of me, curling in toward some hidden, perfect spot as he sucks hard, I come with a suppressed scream that ravages my throat.
I’m falling into him, and he’s sweeping me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, as he stumbles into the room behind us. I’m too far gone to care if anyone is inside. Cool, quiet greets us.
