"Good evening, Elena."
When he smiles at me, the seductive slant of his lips makes me want to throw myself at him.
"Uh, hi," I say. So lame, Elena. "Guess I'm overdressed. I thought 'special' meant formal, but I guess I should've worn a towel."
"I'd thought to feed you first, but then I realized I can't wait one more second to make love to you." He offers me his hand, and when I take it, he guides me into the room. "You are stunning, Elena. Even more beautiful than when you wear a conservative business suit. I love that tight skirt you wore the other day, but this dress is even better."
"Thank you." I watch him shut the door, unable to tear my focus away from his chest. I know what his dick looks like---and feels like, and tastes like---but seeing all of him makes me so aroused I fight to keep from tearing that towel off. "I love you in a suit, but terrycloth is definitely the sexiest thing I've seen you in."
He whips off the towel, tossing it away.
We are standing in a living room. A large, curved sofa takes up most of the space, with various tables and some chairs arranged around it. I can see a doorway that leads into the bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, and the lights of countless buildings and streetlights twinkle like stars, overshadowing the sky. Sliding glass doors open onto a balcony where a table and chairs wait, but we're not going out there.
Chance takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.
An enormous bed is the centerpiece of the room. A window offers a view of the city, but the semitransparent drapes obscure the vista. Chance turns a dial on the wall beside the door, and the lighting inside the room dims to a sensual glow that seems to burnish his skin, turning him into a golden statue of a sex god.
Damn, he's gorgeous.
I notice the covers are already pulled back on the bed.
He comes up behind me and unties the bow I'd carefully tied earlier, the one that keeps my halter dress from falling down to my waist. He lets the straps go. They slide down my body until all of me from the waist up is bared to him. He slips his fingers inside the fabric and pushes my dress over my hips. It flutters to the floor, a pool of silky scarlet at my feet.
I thank heaven I decided against wearing pantyhose, but I'm even more grateful I had the audacity to ditch the underwear. Waiting for Chance to strip those off might've killed me. His fingers grazing my skin, the soft murmur of his breaths, and the scent of him... All those things have me so turned on I'm not sure I can walk the five feet to the bed. Weak with lust? I've never experienced this before, but I like it.
He scoops me up and carries me to the bed, setting me down on the unbelievably soft sheets. They feel so good against my skin that I want to roll around on them, but I can't move. The vision of him entrances me. Sure, I've seen naked men before. But Chance is not like anyone else. He stands beside the bed, far enough away to grant me a full view of his nude body, and gives me time to absorb the sight.
I drink it all in, every muscle and every bit of flesh, from his strong thighs to his washboard abs and those biceps that are well-defined but not outrageously big. His smooth chest begs to be kissed and licked, but my gaze keeps drifting back to that mouthwatering cock, framed by his lean hips.
He saunters to the bed and climbs onto it, kneeling at my feet. While he explores my body with his gaze, he groans softly. "Elena, you are a work of art."
If anyone else told me that, I'd think it was bullshit. But Chance isn't the kind of man who lays on the phony compliments so thick you need a shovel to dig your way out of it. I know he means it.
I watch him while he keeps exploring me with his gaze, loving the way his lips part and his pupils grow larger. He skims his hands up and down his thighs like he's imagining doing that to me. I want him to touch me so badly the weight of it settles low in my belly and triggers a molten slickness between my thighs.
He lowers onto his hands and knees, his face poised over mine. The blue of his eyes mesmerizes me, and I feel like I'm spiraling down into their shimmering depths, lost in an ocean of desire. He touches his lips to mine, tenderly at first, then with more pressure. When his tongue flicks out to taste my skin, I can't stop myself from opening for him, all but begging him to claim my mouth. He slips inside, oh so slowly, and the sensation of his tongue on mine elicits a soft moan from me.
God, the flavor of him. It's indescribable, and it intoxicates me like no liquor on earth could. I give in to the feel of his tongue coiling around mine, teasing and tempting me with every leisurely swipe, until I'm clutching his arms and making sharp moans that verge on whimpering.
I haven't experienced his body on mine yet. He holds himself up on his arms, hovering over me without touching me.
He breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes.
The intensity of his gaze burns into me, setting my body on fire, a tingling wave of heat that stuns me. I want him so much it almost scares me. But I can't be afraid when I'm with Chance. He's the best combination of everything---safety and risk, lust and tenderness, dirtiness and sweetness.
"Elena," he murmurs, nuzzling my throat. His husky voice weaves my name into a seductive spell.
"Yes," I whisper, raking my fingers through his hair. "Yes, Chance."
We've said almost nothing, but it means everything.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. "I love the way you say my name."
"I love saying it."
A breath rushes out of me when he drags his mouth along my throat, then kisses his way down to my breast. His tongue slides around the nipple, moistening my skin but never touching the stiff, aching peak. I bury my hands in his hair, but still his body lingers above mine, not touching me. I arch my back, desperate to reach him, but I can't quite get there.
He flicks his tongue over my nipple, only once, so swiftly I wonder if I hallucinated the sensation. Then he blows a current of cool air across the peak.
I gasp and arch my back again.
"Elena," he says. "Beautiful, sweet, sexy Elena."
Wetter. Hotter. Hungrier. I need him inside me but can't find my voice to tell him.
He draws my nipple into his mouth and suckles it.
A sharp cry erupts out of me. Helpless to stop myself, I grip his arms and throw my legs around his hips. He grunts but keeps his mouth sealed around my nipple, consuming it like he can't survive without the taste of my flesh on his tongue. Though I buck my hips, struggling to find his erection and take it inside my body, that part of him is still out of my reach. My moans become whimpers that tacitly beg him to take me.
"Not yet," he growls, releasing my nipple.
"Please, Chance."
He crawls backward until his face is above my hips. Staring down at my mound, his eyes narrowed to slits, he utters a single syllable that he draws out into a throaty groan. "Fuck."
I spread my thighs.
Chance mutters something else, something I can't make out, and lowers himself onto his elbows. His face is directly above my sex, and I know I'm so aroused he must smell and see it. He gently separates my folds with two fingers, concentrating on the task like it's the most vital thing he's ever done. With my core exposed to him, he freezes.