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“Yeah, it is.”
We’re close, our breaths mingling in the tiny closet. Tyler looms over me, his strong body filling the width of the space, his subtle scent flooding my nostrils.
“How are you enjoying the party?”
“I hate it,” he says under his breath.
My mouth parts in surprise. “Beck did a great job.”
“I don’t want Beck and our friends right now.” He threads his tattoo-covered hand through my hair, and I swallow.
“I thought you wanted three musicians from your future label.” Even though we agreed to invite them, I can’t resist prodding him.
Tyler shifts closer, and my heart picks up as it always does when he’s near me, as if there’s no other option but to sync up with his rhythm.
Our rhythm.
“Does it feel like I want them?” He presses my hand against the ridge in his pants, and I suck in a startled breath.
I meant to tell him what happened with Zeke, but I don’t want to worry him. Plus, in Tyler’s presence, everything beyond that door melts away.
The distance between us narrows as he bends closer, my pulse skittering.
“If you haven’t noticed,” I toss back in a whisper, “we’re in a—”
He cuts off the word “closet” with his firm lips.
His kiss is claiming, and I grab his shoulders for balance as he presses me back against the end of the closet. The phone falls to the floor, the light extinguishing and leaving us in blackness. Coats and fabric tangle around me, and he shoves at them, impatient.
Since I returned to LA, the sex has been insane, but I’m still hungry for more. The scorching physical connection isn’t enough to fill the emotional ache inside me. I need the kind of closeness we’ve always had, the kind that’s eluding us now.
He tears his mouth away from mine and leaves me gasping.
“Someone could walk in,” I pant.
His answer is to drag his teeth down my neck, making me moan and arch toward him for more.
He’s always been the reasonable one. Now he’s not.
Those hands stroke up my legs, making me wet from his confident touch even before they plunge beneath my lace panties.
“Fucking need you,” he rasps against my ear before pressing two fingers where I’m wettest.
Blind, I reach for his abs, running my hands up his beautiful chest through the shirt.
Every sensation is amplified in the dark, our need turned into a fine point of desperation.
My hands reach for his belt, stroking the hard ridge of him beneath. He grinds against my hand, rubbing against my fingers.
I try to step back and trip on something. Tyler’s there to hold me up, grabbing me before I fall.
If I ever thought it would be possible to get tired of him, I was wrong. His passion changes with his mood, with the day, with the weather.
His fingers work inside me, stroking a spot that makes me hiccup breaths against his mouth.
I reach for his belt, but his free hand drags my hand over my head, slamming my wrist against the wall and pinning me with his body. He withdraws, and I could moan in complaint, but he hitches my skirt up my hips, the delicate fabric threatening to tear.
This is vintage.I think it but don’t say it, because what’s between us is old and new and priceless.
