Love in Lingerie(40)

I shouldn't close my eyes, but I do. It’s one of those senseless responses to a man I would trust with my life. I inhale when I feel heat against my right nipple, and I open my eyes and look down to see his mouth on the outside of the suit, his lips against the cheap fabric, his eyes closed. He suckles the fabric, and my eyelids drop from the sheer pleasure of it. Has a man ever kissed that part of me like this? His grip on my waist gets tighter, and I exhale as his mouth lifts off me. "What are you—?” The question falls away when he lowers his mouth to the other side, and I am unable to look away as his tongue swirls around the bead of my nipple, hard against the thin fabric. He covers the entire area with his mouth, and I almost groan with the sensation.

We can't do this. Trey’s mouth on me, the bite of his fingers into my hips, my mind going crazy—pulled between lust and possibilities—he lifts away from me, and I struggle to open my eyes.

"Look at your reflection." There is a rough catch in his voice that is unfamiliar, and I look up into his face, unsure if I’ve ever heard it before. The heat in his eyes ... that I recognize, a look I always pretend to ignore, the connection between us that I always run from with a flippant comment, phone call, or eye roll. Now, I don’t run. I stand, my heart wild in my chest, my nipples crying for more attention, and meet his eyes.

"Kate, look." His hands move to my shoulders, and he turns me to the window, his chest against my back, our eyes meeting in the glass reflection. When his gaze drops, so does mine, my cheeks heating when I see the dark stain of my nipples, clear as day through the wet fabric. "If I was at a party," he whispers, “and you stepped out of the pool wearing this..." His hands slide down the outside of my arms. "You'd ruin every man there for life." He tugs on the back of the suit’s skirt, and the jerk of fabric pulls across my most sensitive places. "Even with a tail."

"Trey.” I can't think of a distraction, can't think of a way to stop this. His eyes flick up, catching mine in the reflection.

“Is the crotch lined? I’m curious if it—”

“It’s lined,” I interrupt him, my cheeks heating, the thought of him continuing the test in between my legs … my knees almost buckle at the thought. “I should change.” I want to grip the neck of his suit, just to keep myself upright. I want to rub the tips of my breasts against his suit, just to feel the friction. I need the friction. I almost lean into him, my hand reaching out, stopping myself just in time. I push gently on his suit and force myself to step back.

His eyes are on fire. I can feel the heat of his stare, it eats at my resolve and this is the closest we have ever been to breaking. “Be right back,” I whisper.

His hand wraps around my wrist, tying me to him. “Don’t stop for that pretty boy, Kate. He doesn’t—”

“Don’t.” I flick my gaze up to his and all but beg him with my eyes. “You’re drunk.”

He says nothing, his eyes on me, as steady as the day he showed me his father’s grave, as strong as when he gave me control of his company. Between our eyes, we fight and lose fifty wars. Then his lids fall over those dark eyes, and he carefully lets go of my wrist. “You’re right. I am drunk.” He turns away from me, ambling by the table and snagging his keys off the polished wood. “See you tomorrow, Kate,” he calls, an exaggerated slur in his words. “I’m out for the night.”





Him

I don’t take the elevator all the way down. I stop on the sixth floor, moving quietly through the dark cubicles and into my office, my hand quick on the blinds, then the door’s lock, my back hitting the door, hands fumbling at my belt, my zipper, my underwear.

Her hand flat against the window, cheek against the cool glass. I kneel behind her, my suited knees against the wood floor—

no.

I pull out my cock, and I widen my stance, clenching my thighs, my hand wrapping around my cock and slowly tugging down its length. It’s half-hard already, and stiffens further under my touch, a soft groan tumbling out of my mouth as I picture pulling her from that window and scooping her up, knocking over beer bottles and lingerie and laying her out on the table. Would she fight? Protest? No. Not as soon as I lower my mouth back to that white bathing suit, my mouth teasing her through the fabric, lifting up her legs and wrapping them around my shoulders, her thighs against my ears, the smell and taste of her so close, right there. Fuck the lining of the suit—I’d get her so wet that I’d see it all, her all but naked on that table, the sight of her, her back arching against the hard surface, her hands reaching for me … I quicken my hand, squeezing the base of my dick as I jerk the shaft, my breath quickening, and I’m going to come like a fucking teenager for her.

I wouldn’t be able to stop, I would pull her to the edge of that table and yank that wet suit to the side, exposing the beautiful look of her. She would be the first woman I would ever take without a condom, and that initial push, the thick slide of my cock inside of her, her name off my lips—

My shoulders shudder against the door, and I come, breathing her name into the empty office.

If my need was lingerie, it’d be blood-red, with lines that scream for attention.





chapter 16

Him

When the doorbell chimes, it echoes through the house, bouncing off wood floors and glass, the tones catching my attention in the moment before I reach for the remote. I stand, running a hand through my hair, scratching an itch on the back of my head. I pull at the bottom of my T-shirt, stepping out of the media room and jogging down the house’s front staircase, the figure on my front porch manipulated by the poured glass. I hitch up my workout pants and pull open the door, blinking through the glare of the morning light. It takes a moment to recognize the man on my porch.