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Fingers tiptoeing across her warm back, tracing that cursive E on her fine golden chain that he can’t stop thinking about. Slipping his fingers underneath, feeling its warmth from her skin. She’s wearing it now, the gold letter glittering at the hollow of her throat. He wants to kiss it and then keep going down, down, down.
He swallows roughly. “Is there someplace quiet we can go?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elisha
Elisha’s heart trips over itself as she leads Ves to the storeroom, far enough away from the party that the chatter is only a dull hum in her ear. Does he actually just want a private place to have a chat? Or is he speaking in code?
When she had her own apartment in Atlanta, coming up for coffee usually meant sex first, then coffee the morning after, presuming he spent the night. If she was at a bar or club, getting out of here meant getting into her panties. But in the middle of the Chocolate Mouse, does the code mean something different?
She flips the switch and the lights take forever to crackle on. One by one, the panels above them come to life. Boxes full of extra decorations are stashed here, worn trees with crooked or missing branches, and various other odds and ends from the store floor that need fixing.
By the time Elisha turns around to ask Ves if this is fine, hinges squeak and she quickly discovers someplace quiet we can go is code for reaching behind him to lock the door without looking. His eyes are on her, only her. Elisha’s breath hitches.
Without the distracting shimmer of the store decorations and all the dressed-up people, Ves sharpens into focus. Eyes the shade of the softest denim, ringed by black eyelashes. Pure blazing want bleeds across his face, from the unblinking intensity of his stare to the way he wets his lower lip.
The way he’s looking at her makes her feel like she’s taken a deep guzzle of hot tea that’s settled low in her belly.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night,” he confesses, eyes boring into her like he can see her leaping heart, hear her humming bones.
“You just got here.”
“I know.”
Without another word, she snakes her arms around his trim waist, pressing herself into the solid heat of him. His eyes reverently shut, then pop open when she gets on her tiptoes to press her lips against his.
The angle is all off at first, their mouths meeting too hard, too hungry, too desperate. But then he tilts her chin and it’s good. So fucking good that if this dress would allow it, she would jump on him in a second, wrapping her legs around his waist.
As it is, his thigh slides between her own, and the friction is so delicious that all the unresolved, tangled tension threatens to unspool her into a writhing mess.
His mouth molds against hers until she melts against him, his hands greedily moving up and down her bare back, blunt nails tickling her spine, knuckles grinding pleasurably against her tailbone. She moans, a reedy, whining thing that makes him smile against her lips.
“Someone likes that,” he whispers.
Oh, she absolutely does. “Mm-hmm,” she says, nipping at his bottom lip when he stops. She makes a sound of protest, shoving at his shoulders, then clenching her fingers around the fabric of his jacket to bring him closer. There’s way too much space between their bodies for what’s about to happen, what her core is crying out for.
When he resumes that divine strumming of her spine, she feels his erection brush against her belly. The double whammy makes her more frantic, more eager for the solid press of his body against hers.
It’s been too long since someone’s touched her like this, and the kiss is good. His lips are soft but firm and coaxing, stoking the need in her gut that’s already roused from flicker to flame. The tingles start behind her ears at first, then pinball in berserk zips, zings, and zaps to every other part of her.
She’s ridiculously turned on. Part of her wants this to be rough and passionate, the way a quickie can be when she’s desperate for another person and greedy for release. But as lust-hazy as she is right now, it isn’t lost on her that they’re in her family’s place of business. She inhales, resting her hands on his shoulders, the move putting a few inches of distance between their heaving chests.
His mouth presses soft kisses up her neck, his nose tracing her lobe. His voice is low and urgent as he mumbles beneath her ear, “Is this okay?”
It takes a moment for the question to compute and two more before her dry throat unsticks. “Yes,” she whispers. “It’s more than okay.”
His smile reminds her of that moment before plugging in the Christmas tree, the startling magic of seeing every little rainbow bulb come to life all the way to the starlit top. He starts to go in for another kiss, his blue eyes fixed on her lips, but she brings a finger up to land on his Cupid’s bow.
“You should do this more often,” she says.
The corners of his mouth creep up. “What? Kiss you?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. Smile.” She brings her hands up to frame his face, letting her thumbs crook and stretch his smile a bit further. “You’re sexy like this.”
“I look like the Joker like this,” he says flatly, but his eyes are soft.
She shuts him up with another kiss, tangling her fingers in the hair at his nape to bring him closer. He obliges, hands splayed across her back, then moving down to squeeze her ass in handfuls. He smells like green apple body wash, but his jawline prickles with stubble that isn’t yet quite visible. Thrilled with her discovery, and more than a little curious how the friction would feel against her inner thighs, she caresses his cheeks.
