Page 275 of Manhattan Bossholes

His words ghosted across my neck. “Would you like to change that?”

“Yes,” I whispered, looking into his dark eyes. I took his hand, pulling him to his feet, leading Trent back to the elevator. By the time we made it down to the car, my skin was crawling with goose bumps.

Trent pulled the door open, and we climbed in. The partition was down. I glanced at the driver. “Straight to Trent’s place, please.”

Then I put my hand down on the button, raising the glass divider.

15

TRENT

Watching Natasha raise the partition between us and the driver was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life. That was until she turned around, leveling me with a sultry look, her eyelashes fluttering in a way that sent all my blood racing south. She was summoning me with just a look, and it took everything inside me not to drag her into my lap as we drove through traffic for my penthouse in Greenwich Village.

“Why are you all the way over there?” she asked, patting the space next to her.

Why was I? For a second, I had no damn clue, and I very nearly reached out to pull her into my arms. But I was pretty sure that if I touched her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And for our first time, I wasn’t about to try to maneuver in a cramped backseat when being patient for a few minutes meant I’d have much more room to spread her out. I cleared my throat. “Because I just want to look at you.”

I heard her sharp intake of breath. She shifted slightly in her seat, the fabric twisting at her waist and tightening over her breasts in a way that had my resolve weakening.

“But why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I want you to know I’m going to devour you. I want you to be thinking about it. Imagining it. Anticipating it,” I said, making a compromise with myself. We weren’t going to fuck here in the backseat, but that didn’t mean I had to keep my hands entirely to myself. Moving slowly, controlling the pace, I caught her jaw in my hand and tipped her mouth up to meet mine. The same searing heat washed through me as the last time I kissed her, setting every nerve on fire and waking the most sensitive parts of me. “I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, a little dazed.

“Because every time I kiss you, I just want more. And the kind of more I’m hungry for is best explored behind closed doors with locks on them.” I kissed her again, and she kissed me back, her hands fisting in my hair, tugging in a way that drove me wild. It was like she couldn’t get close enough. I tilted my head and ran my tongue along her lips. They were so lush and pillowy. When she opened her mouth to me, I pressed my tongue inside, tasting the bite of whiskey on her breath.

Natasha groaned into my mouth, the kiss growing wild and sloppy as she panted against me. My hand skimmed the space where the dress split, inching up the smooth skin of her thigh.

I kept going, a bold thrill shooting through me as she moved into my touch, her chest rising and falling erratically as my fingers finally brushed the edge of her delicate lace underwear.

“Are you wearing something pretty for me?” I asked, my voice husky in her ear. I imagined hooking my finger through her underwear and dragging them down her legs, or better yet, using my teeth to pull them off her.

Natasha let out a breathy little moan, throwing her head back to expose her neck. I latched on to her pulse point, sucking until she was whispering my name repeatedly, rolling her hips against the pressure of my hand between her thighs.

“Are you?” I said again. She made a confused little noise. “Wearing something nice for me?”

She pulled back enough to look me in the eye, then lay her hand over mine. “Why don’t you keep going and find out?”

God! I groaned into her ear, mustering all my self-control as I forced myself to pull back, removing my hand from her thigh, trying to put some space between us. At least enough to clear my head. Removing the temptation of Natasha would be impossible, but the space would ensure things didn’t get entirely out of hand before we got to my place.

But Natasha’s hand was still buried in my hair. She tugged, rolling her hips toward me. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “You don’t have to stop.”

“I do.”

“Please,” she whispered, the sound so beautifully desperate I wanted to immediately put her out of her misery.

“We’re almost there,” I said, smiling at her.

She groaned in frustration. “Tell the driver to do a couple laps around the block.”

I chuckled. “Is that all it’s going to take?”

“Maybe less,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll make sure you thoroughly enjoy yourself once we’re upstairs.”

“I could enjoy myself here,” she said, squirming against the seat, looking deliciously wanton—her elegant dress and classy make-up contrasted with her kiss-swollen lips and the sheer hunger in her eyes.