I held my breath as she got up from her side of the bed, came to mine, and sat again at my hip.
She put her hands on both of my shoulders and bent down. Her silky dark hair was down, a rare sight, and it trailed onto my chest.
Our eyes were locked when she said softly, “Close your eyes, Thorn.”
I obeyed, but not quietly. “Don’t call me that,” I began, “I’m not your bro—”
Her pillowy soft lips pressed to mine, and I went silent and very, very still.
Her mouth explored mine like the touch of curious fingers. Her tongue darted out to lick like she was memorizing, teasing me relentlessly before pushing inside. I gave instantly and let her in with open arms, our tongues twining together like long lost lovers.
She kissed with tender focus. Like she’d never done it before but had perfected it through sheer talent, unbridled sensuality, and perfect instinct.
Like she’d just discovered kissing and was ravenous for it. Like she’d just discovered everything.
It didn’t speak well of me, but it was true nonetheless: I couldn’t remember the last time I’d kissed someone on the mouth, lips to lips. My foreplay tended to consist of my mouth going somewhere else pretty quickly and no one had ever complained about that.
It spoke very well of her that my thoughts veered so far into outer space that I had the distinct thought: I never want to kiss anyone else after this, not ever again.
Madness incarnate.
She pulled her tongue away, and I fought her a bit to keep it. She bit my bottom lip, I groaned, and she delved back in, kissing me with perfect passion and rare, innocent artistry.
I was lost.
Without permission from my brain, I found my arms pulling her on top of me, lining our bodies up so she was straddling me, my hands gripping hard, stroking her butt, humping my impossible, unstoppable erection against the addictive heat of her in restless, desperate motions.
I wanted to climb inside of her.
I wanted to consume her whole.
I moved my hand between us, sliding my fingers into her loose shorts to graze her sex.
I felt her, hot and wet, for one brief moment before she pulled back, stood up, and walked away unsteadily. The effort not to trap her close but to let her go made my body tremble, head to toe.
She went into my bathroom for a long time, and I was able to calm my body through sheer force of will.
I didn’t want to scare her off. I was scared enough for the both of us.
She came out and turned off all the lights.
“I’m not drunk anymore,” I said roughly to her. “Get back here.”
“I will not.”
“Let me eat you out. It’s a kiss, too. Just farther south.”
“Down, boy.”
“Why won’t you marry me again?”
“Because you’re too sentimental and romantic, obviously.”
She settled on her side of the bed now, a pillow set between us as a barricade.
“Say it,” I told her in deadly earnest. “I need you to say the words. Before this gets out of hand.”
“I don’t want you. Now go to sleep, you horny bastard.”
I reached a hand across the barrier between us. She understood and took it.
I held her hand on top of the pillow and she let me. “Will you say that to me again but in your sexy phone voice?”
She actually did it, the diabolical imp, pitching her voice just so, “Go to sleep, you horny bastard.”
“The other part, too.”
“I don’t want you. You’re not gorgeous or hunky at all. I’d throw rocks at you if I saw you in the street.”
I purred. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”
“You’re lucky I don’t kick you out of this bed.”
I’d never been so charmed or turned on in my entire life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHE WAS ALREADY gone when I woke up the next morning.
I didn’t even bother to get dressed before I sought her out.
She was in her office, working away like nothing was amiss.
“Morning,” said Ro briskly. “Go put on a shirt, and I’ll get your cappuccino.”
I’d had my mouth open to say something else entirely but that distracted me. “You’re making a shirt the condition of my morning coffee now?”
“I’m trying to. Is it working?”
“Not at all. You couldn’t pay me to put a shirt on now.”
“Could I bribe you?”
“It would have to be a better bribe than a cappuccino.”
“I’ll sleep in your bed again tonight.”
I was already heading back to my room when I called out, “Deal!”
I was dressed and working in her office, perfect cappuccino in hand, when I brought it up.
“Should we talk about what happened last night?” I asked tentatively.
She didn’t hesitate. “No. We should never talk about, or so much as refer to it, again.”
“It won’t just go away.”
“Sure it will.”
I tried to drop it, I really did.
My thoughts were just too all-consuming and intrusive to let me.
“I want to touch you,” I told her, voice low and husky.
“Stop that. Don’t use that tone on me.”
“What tone?” I asked innocently.
“Your seductive tone. I know what you’re trying to do. It won’t work on me.”
“Is my seductive tone as bad as your phone sex voice?”
“How should I know? And I don’t have a phone sex voice.”
I tried again. “You don’t even have to touch me.” My voice was low, guttural. “I’ll do all the touching, all the pleasuring. I just need to put my hands on you.” I paused. “My fingers inside of you. And I want to taste you. I want to feel you come humming against my tongue.”
“That escalated quickly.”
“I’m not talking about sex,” I continued, unfazed.
“Really,” she said sarcastically.
“Certainly not right away. Just my hands and mouth and your body. You don’t have to get me off.”
She sent me a glance that was distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I understand. What would you even get out of that?”
I’d get to touch you, I almost said, but thought better of it.
It was bad enough that I knew how desperate I’d become for her, I certainly didn’t need to share the knowledge.
I just stared at her intensely.
“I don’t understand you at all,” she remarked.
“Let’s get to understand each other better, then. With my tongue on your clit.”
“Stop that, you incorrigible ass.”
“Then tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t want my hands on your body. Tell me you don’t want my lips all over you. I need to hear it again.”
She opened her mouth, and I waited for the words I needed, the obligatory rejection she would deliver just how I required. Instead she said, “Fine.”
“Fine? Fine what?”
“Fine, put your hands on me. No sex.”
My brain short-circuited. I stared. “Do you mean it?”
“It’s debatable.”