Bait (Wake, #1)(75)

I'd said the most honest sentence I had, “Then I'm yours.” And with all my damned heart, I wished the words were true. He had never offered me more, and I didn’t think he ever would.

He took his time unwrapping me. I luxuriated in the feeling of his hands on me and my body followed his gentle direction. When the corset was gone and I stood there in my panties, my hands began wandering him. I couldn't help want to touch his body the way he had been mine.

My nimble fingers undid the button on his coat and he shrugged out of it. My hands untucked his pressed dress shirt and began the climb of buttons separating him from me. I pulled it open and found him, like always, well defined and muscular. His stomach cut with lean muscles that flexed under my hands. His chest strong and firm. The long ridge of his collarbone, my favorite meal.

I didn't bother with removing his shirt. Having even the slightest access to him was enough for me.

In my panties, stockings, and shoes I bent down to my knees with one thing in mind. I wanted to taste, to touch, and to have all of him. To please only him.

I kissed along the top edge of his dress pants, undoing his belt, and pulling it through its loops. Then, I tossed it away. The zipper went the way zippers do in these situations, and to my wonderful surprise, he wasn't wearing anything underneath. I smiled at my discovery. It looked like he had finally made a decision about his undergarments.

My mouth continued to water.

His skin, too, was bare. But unknown to him, so was I.

My fingers circled underneath his length and pulled him out. I ran both of my hands under his pants to his ass and pulled them down farther to expose his scrotum, taught and collected tightly against him. Everything about him was beautiful.

I took him into my mouth and felt him flex inside me, growing even fuller. The taste of him was so intoxicating. His skin was like catnip and the more I had of it the more I needed. I looked up at him to see him watching me in wonder, his jaw ticking and every glorious muscle from my face to his was in full view.

I moaned around his cock, the sight of him like this stealing the remnant of every wayward thought from my head. It was only him and me. This night was for us.

I moved to a slow beat, enjoying every twitch, every breath he took while I pleasured him. He stood anchored in his spot. He brushed my hair back away from me, threaded his fingers through it, and pushed himself deep inside me before he pulled out of me and urgently pulled me up his decadent body. He kissed me, still holding my head in his hands with my hair. It was rough and his chest rose and fell in time with mine.

“Go lay down over there, Blake. I want to play with my Valentines’ gift.” A shiver ran through me. He released my hair and I backed up without looking at where I was going. My body on autopilot, I did what I was told.

I felt brazen and daring. I felt like I was living a fantasy. I leaned back on my elbows and drew my legs up then parted them like I'd dreamt of doing so many nights on the phone.

He came to crouch next to me and took stock of the table’s offerings.

“May I have a drink, honeybee? Good choice with the cognac. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sentimental.” His voice was rich with sensuality, but his eyes were alight with happiness. He was going to play with me. I was his toy tonight. His toy.

He fixed himself a drink. Two pieces of ice clanked in the glass, then two fingers of the sweet liquor followed. He brought the short glass to his lips and hummed his pleasure at the taste.

I was on fire and the anticipation of him touching me was thrumming through my veins.

His shirt was open and his pants, although still undone in the front were pulled back up.

The runaway lock of hair, which had broken formation from the rest, was gathering company from us running our hands through it.

While I'd been studying him, I hadn't paid attention to my wandering hand that was now rubbing my breast. My mouth was open and I was nearly panting.

After he drank down half of the glass, he touched my leg at the knee and leisurely ran his fingers up the skin to my thigh. His barely there touch wasn't enough.

I wanted more. I needed more.

I spread my legs farther for him and unabashedly ran my hand to my sex. I rubbed myself over my panties trying to satisfy a need that was blazing deep inside me. His eyes watched me touch myself and I saw that his desire matched mine. The usually cool and easy-going Casey, was again gone, and in his place was the take-control lover I dreamed about nearly every night.

On his knees he climbed closer to me, between my legs, and his hand met mine.

“I want you, Casey.”

He replied, with a firm demanding voice, “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

Maybe it was the ambiance and romantic mood of the room. Maybe I felt so free because it was, decidedly, my last time with him.

That singular thought made me panic and I had to remind myself why. I had to recite in my head, Because you're marrying another man. Because Casey only likes chasing you. Because he doesn't want the same things you do. He doesn't want a family. He doesn't want a home. He likes traveling and being carefree.

And it was those exact things that made me believe I had to leave him and made my heart retch to let him go. Because he would never offer me anything different and I could no longer live with the desperate yearning I had for him, that was entwined with my deeper desires for home, future, and stability.

Then he caught me and halted the runaway train that was my thoughts.