Page 105 of Elevator Pitch

“I wrote. Right here.” I point to the spot where I’d placed my laptop.

“Let’s write another story.” Ross hums against my neck. “I like you in my home.” He tightens his hold, kissing me deeper along the column of my throat, sucking harder at my skin.

“You okay?” I ask, rubbing my hand over his strong, tattooed forearm around me.

“Rough day at the office,” he mutters.

“How can I help?” I whisper, my senses overloaded by his kisses.

“Want inside you.”

The request sends a sudden rush up my center. I’ve been the one to put the brakes on sex, yet my body is pedal to the floor prepared to speed ahead.

“Should we talk?” I murmur, as his kisses become more urgent against my skin. My head tips forward and he scoops up my hair, giving him access to my nape. He scrapes his teeth there and my knees buckle.

Holy shit, that feels good.

“Talk later?” he grunts, giving me an out when he doesn’t want one. “Question three. For your research purposes. I can explain everything afterward.”

“Okay,” I moan, unable to speak my own name, unable to recall question three.

Ross hums at my ear. “Yeah?”

I sink my teeth into my lower lip and nod.

Ross lowers his hands and unbuttons my jeans, easily slipping a hand into them and beneath my underwear until he’s cupping between my thighs. The first swipe of his finger, I jolt backwards, knocking my backside into the thick, hard, length bulging against his soft joggers.

I reach behind me, fumbling to feel him in my hands, noticing how thin the sweatpants are and easily disguising . . . “No underwear?”

“Let’s get yours off.”

“So bossy.” But I’m quickly quieted as Ross removes his hands from my jeans and steps back, tugging my pants down, along with my underwear, in one fierce pull. I kick out of my flip flops and use my feet to pull my ankles free from my jean-underwear combination.

Bare from the waist down, Ross’s mouth is on my neck again, as he presses my shirt upward and then over my head. He unclasps my bra, nudging the straps to slip free of my arms. Naked in his kitchen, with my hands on the countertop edge, Ross peppers open mouth kisses down my spine.

“God, I love your back.”

Such a strange compliment. I can’t see my back, so I don’t suppose there is anything special about it, but with the attention he gives my spine, the sucking kisses along that ridge down the middle of my body, he makes me feel special. When he gets to my backside, he lowers to one knee behind me, spreads my legs apart and hitches one of my feet on the shelf of his leg. Open, and exposed to him, he leans forward and licks my center.

Mouth hungry. Hands roaming. Everything is happening so fast.

The first lap is quick and thorough before the tip of his tongue finds that tight nub, giving it all his attention. I lean forward, forehead resting on the countertop as Ross works his magic, melting me in the heat of his kitchen. My hands reach for the outer edge of the counter, needing something to brace myself as my hips rock with his eager attention to my core.

“Ross,” I warn, surprised how quickly I’m rounding the bases, heading for a homerun. This isn’t why I came here, isn’t what I thought would happen. But who am I kidding? I want Ross as much as he says he wants me.

For research purposes.

Letting my thoughts drift and my body take over, I sink into the pleasure he’s giving me. Licking. Lapping. Until his fingers are inside me.

I cry out at the sudden intrusion, relishing in the invasion, and dripping down his hand.

I’m a mess as I tip over the edge, a cresting wave crashing against a lakeside break wall. The thunderous roll of a rushing tide battering against the cement beach only blocks from this house. The release is quick, almost harsh, and over too soon.

When I finish riding the surf, Ross releases me, and I whimper at the loss of contact.

His knee cracks as he swiftly stands. I turn my head, watching as he shoves his joggers down his hips, freeing his hard length. Then, he’s fisting himself and teasing my entrance with his tip.

I teased him about just the tip the other night, but Ross is on a mission. After a few swipes up and down the wetness coating sensitive folds, he awkwardly fumbles with the pocket of his joggers, down near his knees, before producing a foil packet.