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The warmth of his body seeps through our clothes, and my lips curve as I tease, “I hope that means it hurts so good.”
His mouth closes over mine, his tongue a silken swoosh of seduction mixed with the distinct taste of desperation, as if he feels he’s losing me. As if he feels he has to walk away. I tear my mouth from his, panting with the demands of my body and his, fighting for rational thought, and point at his chest. “No. You are not leaving.”
“No,” he says. “I’m not leaving.” He loosens his shoulders and shrugs out of his jacket, almost as if he’s answering my fears and telling me he’s staying. He reaches for my mouth, his lips brushing mine, but I press against him. “Why did that kiss just taste like goodbye? Why, Damion?”
His free hand slides up my lower back and molds me closer, hip to hip, the thick pulse of his erection throbbing against me. “Do I feel like I’m going anywhere ever again?” His mouth closes over mine, devouring me, my toes curling with the impact, but I still feel the tug of fear of the unknown.
“Damion,” I whisper against his lips.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby. It’s you and me against the world. It’s always been just you and me, even with an ocean between us. I didn’t want to leave this morning. I want a redo. I want to make love to you the way I should have before you ever got out of bed. Yes?”
My heart squeezes with the rough intensity, and the gravity of his emotion etched in his voice. “Yes,” I whisper.
His lips caress mine. Soft, then firm. Then crushing, mouth to mouth, passion sizzling in the slice of tongue that follows. I sink into the kiss, the heat of his body locked beneath his clothes, and I tug at his shirt, pulling the front of his waistband. He yanks his tie free and tosses it aside, and it’s a matter of moments before his shirt follows.
Mine goes next, and in an instant, I’m free. I wrap my arms around him, warm skin and taut muscles beneath my touch and against my skin, my chin tilting to meet his stare. “Even the four-year-old me knew you’d be hot when you grew up.”
A low rumble of sexy masculine heat in the depths slides from his lips, and he leans in and kisses me. “And the sixteen-year-old me had many thoughts about the girl next door, and all of them involved you and me with nothing between us.” He toes off his shoes and presses me against the door, deft fingers unhooking the clasp between my breasts, his hot gaze a rasp over my breasts, my nipples. His fingers tease the stiff peaks, and I feel that touch between my legs, my sex clenching, wet and slick, aching for him. “You have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had about you over the years,” he continues, the look in his eyes pure wicked, as he ponders, “I wonder what you fantasized about?”
“You,” I admit easily. “Of course, you.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Tell me.”
I laugh nervously, not about to reveal all, though I wasn’t experienced enough to be too exciting. “I was young. A kiss was a fantasy back then.”
He accepts that answer far easier than expected. “And now?”
“I’m already living the fantasy.”
“Oh, come on, baby. You know that’s not what I mean. What—”
I push to my toes and kiss him. “Everything you can possibly imagine.”
“That’s a lot, baby. You sure about that?”
I grin and don’t mind a challenge one little bit. “Try me.”
He scoops me up and carries me to bed, planting me in the center, and comes down on top of me, the weight of him deliciously erotic. His elbows plant on either side of me, and he says, “I’ll be gentle.”
My lips curve. “Don’t be.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Damion
I’ll be gentle.
Don’t be.
With that sexy exchange between us, Damion nuzzles my neck, his breath warm against my ear. “Be careful what you wish for, Alana. You might get more than you meant to ask for.” But even if the words might seem like the product of a secret or torment, there’s a smile against my skin, a playfulness to his tone that dares me to push for more.
“If you think to scare me, you should know by now that doesn’t work.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck, his whiskers a raspy whisper on my delicate skin. I love that rasp so very much. “You smell like flowers,” he murmurs.
“Bath products from a sponsor. Very expensive. I never let myself use them. I didn’t want to run out and not be able to buy more.”
He pulls back and stares down at me. “Buy the products, baby. I like them. I want you to have what you love. And you don’t need me to buy them, though I’d buy you anything you want for the rest of our lives.”
