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Her mouth is soft, hot, and sweet, that wicked kind with bite, and her tongue definitely knows how to dance. It does so, slow and dirty, against mine. It’s the kind of kiss that is pure filth, filled with promises that can be delivered. The sweaty, orgasmic kind.
I pull back, a deliberate tease that has her seeking out my mouth and I kiss her again, the corner of her mouth and then down, along that slender column of throat, to her beating artery, and I suck it. She grinds in against me, the pulse in my mouth going wild and hard and then I let go, and bite, and lick and make my way back to her mouth where I take it hard, open, in an explicit dance of sex.
If I don’t stop, I’m going to come right here.
And right or wrong, I’m going to do it. I’m going to cross the line into the next level.
With her.
I lift my head. “Come home with me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Scarlett
This man can kiss. He can kiss a woman right out of her clothes and into his bed. Even if she was a forever kinda girl who knows he’s only a sex kind of guy.
Lucky for me, I’m not a forever kinda girl. At least, I’m not a forever yet kinda girl.
My mind is spinning and the thoughts are jumbled, coming thick and fast and I’m in a haze caused by him and that thing he called dancing, but was pretty much vertical sex with all your clothes on.
I should know this complicated doing makes things, well, more complicated but I’m not turning down what promises to be the world’s best candy.
The music moves through my bones, vibrates in my blood, just like he does, and his not question is still in the air.
There’s so much I need to do. Talk to him. I slide my hands up his T-shirt, the hard, sculpted muscles under my palms hot and damp and in the low lighting I know what I have to do.
Tell him why I asked him to come out. Tell him the truth.
After all, that was my plan, the reason I’m here, and to back it all up with the words it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still there for him.
It’s the right thing to do.
I rise on my toes, our mouths so close, and I take a breath.
Then I kiss him, push my lips to his and they give way and our tongues tangle and he sweeps me into him, harder than before, and that erection is big and solid and straining against me. And I want it. I want him.
He’s down deep inside me, the kiss is everywhere, making all my nerves sing and dance and swoon.
We’re on top of each other and it isn’t enough. I break the kiss and I whisper, “Yes.”
His hand is light on my thigh as we drive back to Manhattan. Of course, it’s a car service. He’s that kind of guy, even though we’ve been in a cab before. And I’ll bet whatever small change I have that this is his own private service.
What I should be doing, I tell myself as the tension grows thick, the anticipation charged and sex laden, is do what I haven’t done.
Tell him.
But those plans went out the window when he told me how much this all meant to him. They grew wings and flew like giant birds when I couldn’t or didn’t find a place to tell him and continue not to. And now…now I’m going to his place and we’re going to…
I swallow, hard.
Have sex.
He links his fingers with mine and it’s all so new and familiar and everything is spinning fast and low.
It takes a small forever and it takes no time at all to make it from Brooklyn to his east side home. No time at all to wait for him to open the door and step into the low darkness of a place that smells like him and beeswax and lemon and spice.
It’s going to be fine, I tell myself. I can’t let him down and I’m not going to. My guilt can just stay like that. Or I can drop clues like I’m Gretel and—
