The First Taste(65)

I smirk, but something pulls deep in my stomach at his bluntness. And from the look on his face, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“In all seriousness,” he says, “I came here tonight determined to see you again. I’ve been sexually frustrated since I left you. But watching you with Bell . . . that was new for me. And it feels weird.”

“Bad weird?”

“No.”

I swallow. I don’t need to hear any more. It could cut the night short if he says too much, if he asks for more than a hook-up, and now I want tonight to happen. And I don’t want it to be short. “Fine,” I say. “You win this round.”

“I’ll make sure we’re both winners by the end of the night.” He winks. “So, are you taking me to your office to put me to work, or are you taking me home?”

“I’m taking you home,” I say, “to put you to work.”





NINETEEN


When Andrew and I arrive at my apartment, I drop my keys on the side table and start to take off my blazer.

“Don’t,” Andrew says behind me. I freeze. “Let me.” He takes the lapels and peels the jacket over my shoulders so slowly and deliberately, it makes me think of making love and how different it might be with him. Different from f*cking. Different from Reggie. “I like this outfit.”

I look over my shoulder. “So do I. Careful with that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, tossing it on the ground. He presses his front to my back and undoes the button between my breasts without looking. “It’s just clothing.”

“No it’s not. It’s Theory,” I say, but my argument dissolves as he works his way down my blouse.

He rids me of that too and drops it on top of the blazer. “If it makes you feel better,” he says, “you can rip my shirt off.”

“Your ten-dollar Hanes t-shirt?” I ask, smiling a little.

“It’s ten dollars for a pack of three.”

I laugh, but my humor is replaced with urgency as he gathers up my skirt. “I especially like this,” he murmurs in my ear as he pulls it up my hips and cups a hand between my legs. “Easy access.”

He rubs me, and I drop my head back against his shoulder. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” I ask, already breathless.

“I’ve been waiting to touch you since you sent that photo,” he says. “Next time, lose the bubbles.”

“But what fun is that?” I pant as a throbbing ache forms under his fingers.

“You’re right.” He takes his hand away. “It’s more fun to tease.”

“All right, all right,” I concede. “Next time, no bubbles, swear.”

“Good girl.” He resumes touching me, leisurely but with purpose. With his other hand, he pops open the hook of my bra. “You’re way too easy to undo.”

“It’s you, not me. You’re good at undoing.”

He takes my breast in his hand, massaging it at the same pace as my clit. “You’ve been thinking of me too,” he says. “I can tell by the way your body’s responding.”

“Maybe,” I admit.

He stops touching me completely. “Maybe?”

“Yes. Yes, okay? I’ve been thinking of you.”

He hugs me from behind and walks us farther into the apartment. “How about we try to make it to the bed this time?”

“Or the bath.”

He nips my earlobe with his teeth. “I’m going to make up for leaving you at that hotel, believe me. I hope you’re ready to take a week of pent-up sexual frustration.”

Even if he hadn’t told me so, I’d have known by the hardness suddenly pressing into my lower back. He’s eager. I’m melting. The more under his spell I get, the more I want to give him control, let him have his way with me.

“What do you want tonight, Amelia?” he asks.

“I have some ideas.” I extract myself from his grip, turn, and walk backward into my bedroom. He follows, licking his lips. I close my bedroom curtains and pull him to me by the waistband of his jeans. I open the button, unzip his pants, and push them down around his ankles along with his underwear.

He takes himself in his hand, his hard, impressive length leaving no doubt that he’s been thinking of this all day.

“You’re easy to undo,” I say.

“You’re good at undoing me.”

I cover his hand with mine. Together, we stroke him a few times before he pulls away and it’s just my fist around him—warm, solid. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

“Like what?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head, dropping it at our feet.

“My job,” I say. “And giving orders. And yoga.”

“Yoga,” he repeats. “I might need a demonstration.”

“First things first.” I drop to my knees.

He puts a finger under my chin, raising my eyes. “Look at me when you taste me for the first time.”

I test him with my tongue, gliding it under the ridge of his head, watching his strained expression. “Mmm.”

“Kiss it.”

I do as he says, brushing my lips along his shaft and over the soft, round head until his next command.