A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(117)

“It’s a compliment.” His gaze is still stuck on my chest. “Seeing you in that dress makes me want to fuck your tits.”

Shock courses through me at his comment. I don’t know how to answer him so I change the subject. “Take me on a tour of your place.”

“It’s my parents’ place, really,” he reminds me, his gaze dropping to the lug sole boots on my feet. “You’re going to have to take those off. You stain my mother’s white rugs, she’ll freak.”

“I don’t want to do that.” I start to take them off, placing my hand on the nearby wall, so I can pull one boot off, then the other.

Crew offers me a pair of fuzzy slippers and I step into them. He takes my hand and pulls me along with him, taking me around the massive apartment that puts my parents’ place to absolute shame. It’s huge and luxurious, with amazing views of Manhattan.

Our art is still better though. I see a few pieces by artists I recognize and they’re gorgeous. Extremely valuable.

“I see you eyeing the art.” We stop in front of an original Keith Haring, and I’m immediately taken with it. It’s not one I recognize, and I consider myself familiar with his art. “It was originally untitled, but it’s known as the Dancing Dogs.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.” I take a step closer, my gaze unable to land on one spot for too long. There are so many things happening all at once. The dancing dogs are the most prominent, but there are men dancing as well. He only used three colors in the entirety of the painting and there’s a few radiant babies crawling across the bottom of the canvas. “I love it. My mother has one of his pieces. It was my favorite when I was younger.”

“My parents bought this at an auction a few years ago. My mom has a thing for Keith Haring. She says she loved him when she was a teen,” Crew explains.

I glance over at him to find he’s already watching me. “I didn’t realize your family has so much art.”

“Not as much as yours, but they own some pieces.” He says it so casually, just like a rich person would. I only recognize the casual tone over something so valuable because my parents do the same thing. “My mother is always looking for an investment.”

“She’s smart.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not.” He grabs my hand once more. “Come on. I’ll show you my room.”

“You never did mention where your father is,” I say as we walk down the corridor, past the wall of windows that overlooks the city.

“He’s in town.”

I come to a stop, forcing Crew to do the same. “Could he come home at any time?”

“Maybe.” Crew shrugs. “He doesn’t care if I have a girl over, Wren.”

“I might care.” Has he had other girls over? I probably shouldn’t ask.

It’s none of my business.

He turns toward me, his hands on my waist guiding me so I’m against another wall, his hot, hard body pinning me in place. “I’ve missed you and your fussy ways.”

I’m frowning. “I’m not fussy—”

He kisses me, stealing my words. “You’re adorable. And fussy. Oh, and by the way…I’ve never had a girl over here before.”

Smiling at his confession, I touch his mouth, my finger sinking between his lips. When he nips my fingertip with his teeth, I yelp, yanking my hand away. “I don’t want to make a bad first impression on your father, Crew. Us being here alone might make him question my…morals.”

“As long as you don’t greet him naked, I think you’ll be fine.”

I’m sputtering, about to complain further, but I’m silenced again by Crew’s mouth. That humming sound he makes when our lips first connect, as if he can never, ever get enough of me. I’m lost to the taste of him. The feel of him. His hands grip my hips, his mouth hungrily moving over mine, and I wind my arms around him, clutching him close.

He slides his hands down, his fingers catching on the fabric of my dress, pulling it up, exposing my thighs. I moan when he slips his knee in between them, lifting up, rubbing it against me. A moan leaves me, and I turn away from his mouth, tilting my head back against the wall as I try to catch my breath.

“You’re wet,” he observes, his knee nudging the front of my panties.

“I’ve missed you,” I admit as I strain toward him.

His gaze darkens as he stares at me. “I could fuck you right in this hallway.”

“In front of the art?” I glance around. “The paintings of your ancestors?”

He looks over his shoulder, scowling at the massive portrait of the man with ice blue eyes that resemble Crew’s. “He’s the original Augustus Lancaster.”

“He looks mean.”

“You have to be, to amass a fortune like he did.” He dips his head, his mouth brushing mine once. Twice. His tongue sneaking out for a lick. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Take me to your room then so we can do it on a bed,” I suggest, my fingers curling into the front of his expensive hoodie.

The smile on his face is wicked. Breathtaking. “Let’s go.”

I pause, grabbing hold of his sleeve to stop him. “I forgot my lipstick.”