“Maybe it’s our kink,” I gasped. “The Thornhills are into public sex.”
He pressed our foreheads together like he was in physical pain. Pinned me harder against the door, tightened his hold on my wrists.
“Delilah.” It was part growl, part plea. My eyes fluttered closed as pleasure tightened in my core. I was breathing heavily, struggling not to moan. The pressure of his grinding cock felt incredible. I let myself tumble back into our fantasy—imagined being dragged into coat closets all across the city by this man and fucked senseless against any available surface.
“Look at me, beautiful.” My eyes popped open.
Henry stilled and I almost screamed. The sounds of boot steps filled the hallway, the dull chatter of the guards. I couldn’t even tell anymore if they were close.
“If I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
My resolve was crumbling like a fine dust. Somewhere, I recognized the distant sound of my moral compass being smashed to bits again; somewhere in my mind existed the anxiety of this case, the stakes, the pressure, the fear. But I’d been hurtling toward this desire since Henry had slid my fake wedding ring down my finger. I fantasized about his lips, had hot, furtive dreams about the feel of his tongue, had traced the outline of my own mouth as I’d daydreamed about this very moment.
“I want to kiss you too,” I said, honesty blazing through me, as real as my arousal.
He dropped my wrists so he could spear his fingers into my curls, holding me still. “Say that again.”
“Please kiss me,” I begged.
He grazed his lips against mine in an unhurried discovery. A tasting, like I was a fine wine he wanted to sip and savor; soft, gentle kisses, an exploration. A dance. The sweetness of this first kiss was unexpectedly poignant—it felt like a gift. In the midst of our forbidden fantasy, Henry was kissing me—not his fake wife. I sighed into the kiss, wistful; smiled against his mouth as I touched his face, finally experienced the sensation of his hair beneath my fingers.
“You taste like ripe peaches on a summer’s day,” he whispered. The poetry of it startled me—I was floating on a sensual, simmering cloud. I opened my mouth to answer but he claimed it again. He was charged heat and white-hot electricity, and when he licked his tongue along the seam of my lips, I let him in, let him take possession of me the way my body craved.
And then everything changed.
He took my mouth in a bruising, brutal kiss that didn’t hide how badly he’d needed this. We barely came up for air as our lips met again and again. There was no hesitation between us. He took and I gave. I gave—and he drank me in with every swipe of his tongue. The walls trembled, the ground shook, our breath was hot, panting, harsh.
I clutched at the lapels of his jacket and shamelessly ground against him. Teeth scraped along my jaw as my right knee was pushed all the way to the door, peeling me open.
“We need to talk about touching again,” Henry rasped. His entire hand cupped my sex, with just lace as the barrier. A gratified groan shook loose from my fake husband. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
His index finger slid across my clit, still covered in lace. “And this, wife?”
Oh God, this couldn’t be happening.
I couldn’t even speak—could only nod. When his finger slipped beneath and touched that tight bundle of nerves, I would have screamed if not for his other hand covering my mouth. I was a wild horse, refusing to be tamed—the tighter his hand gripped, the harder he trapped me with his body, the more eager I became.
But he held my eyes, continuing to seek my approval even as I realized this submission was what I desired. Henry caressed my clit with the same reverence I’d seen him exhibit while handling a rare manuscript—like whatever was beneath his fingers was the single most important thing in his universe. Within seconds I was racing toward orgasm, my entire body shaking, eyes locked on Henry’s. He covered my mouth with his, swallowing my cries through a series of breathless, intoxicating kisses.
“Please don’t stop,” I whimpered, shuddering, shivering.
My pussy clenched, seeking more, and Henry read my mind. His fingers slicked between my folds, dipping into my center. Henry finger-fucked with an ease I didn’t think possible, our mouths connected, his hips still thrusting between my legs, mimicking the work of his fingers. It was the single most passionate moment of my life—to be consumed like this, brought to a fast, blinding orgasm in the dark by the sexiest man I’d ever met. He massaged my inner walls, let his palm nudge my clit, and I burst into a thousand rays of light; I was the sun, arcing across the sky, I was waves of undulating pleasure.
And Henry knew what I needed—keeping his fingers working as I rode out a flurry of after-shocks, he pulled me tightly into his chest, let me scream softly against his jacket, let me writhe and pant as he kissed my hair, kissed my cheek. Cherished every inch of me.
“Delilah,” he whispered at my temple, “I think we just had newlywed sex.”
27
Henry
Delilah stared at me with so much astonishment I felt my chest physically tighten. She’d tasted like ripe peaches and ridden my hand like a goddess. In the span of a few minutes, our red-hot fantasy had transformed into a reality I hadn’t realized I craved so very badly.
Would I ever be able to forget the sight of her, coming apart around my fingers?
Could I live without my lips on hers, every moment of the day?
With a grin, I smoothed down her sex-ravaged hair and felt another jolt of tenderness. Arcs of light were spilling across the floor—flashlights. The sound of the hallway guards stormed back into our room almost violently. I stared at the door behind Delilah—and I could feel the spell breaking, a hair-line fracture splintering in our game.
Any second now, we were going to get pulled from this secret place—and then what?
“I need to feel you,” Delilah sighed. Her fingers flew to my belt, making quick work of the material there.
“Delilah, we can’t—”
My zipper came down. The door in the room immediately next to ours was yanked open—the squeal of it like a chainsaw.
“We haven’t checked this one yet, have we?” The guards were literally right outside the fucking door, and the only thing I knew was the incredible sensation of her hand, cupping the length of me.
Even in this impossible situation, I was so fucking hard it hurt. And when she pulsed her fingers up, I exhaled a raw, grateful groan that echoed in the quiet space. Adrenaline and lust made a potent combination, singing in my veins, tempting me toward all kinds of filthy things I couldn’t do.
Like drag Delilah to the ground and fuck her right here, skirt flipped up and stilettos digging into my shoulders.
“Hold on, the doorknob’s a little stuck.” The stranger’s voice sliced through our dark room, knob shaking and turning.
A recognition of danger pierced me. I pulled her to my chest, spun us around so my back faced the guards. Their flashlights illuminated the extremely small storage space we’d been hiding in.
The spell broke.
Delilah was vibrating. I fixed my zipper, straightened my tuxedo jacket, and turned to the guards with a faux sheepish grin. We were panting, hair mussed, clothing wrinkled.