Diary of a Bad Boy(51)
“You got me a cute mug.”
“Two.” He holds up his fingers.
I reach into the bag and pull out another. This one is not pink with polka-dots, instead, it is a cat head with little ears and whiskers.
“Oh my God, this is so cute.”
Looking shy, he shrugs and says, “When I saw it, I thought you needed it since you have a cat and all.”
“I love it.” I hold on to it tightly. “Thank you, Roark.”
“No problem.” He heads to the door. “Just promise you’ll get rid of that boring mug and use these from now on.”
“Promise.”
He reaches for the door knob, and I quickly pop out of bed, setting the mugs down and going to him. “Hold on, wait a second.” I step between him and the door, blocking his exit. “Are you going to let me thank you properly?”
“What does properly entail?”
“A hug.”
“Just a hug?”
“Do you want more?” I ask, pressing him.
“You know I want more.” The veins in his neck tense. “But a hug will do.” Before I can respond, he pulls me in by the hand and wraps his arms around me, his chin resting on my head.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “That was really thoughtful. I don’t think I’ve ever received something so thoughtful from a guy.”
“Then you’re not hanging out with the right people.” He gently presses a kiss to the top of my head and pulls away. He must expect me to move to the side. But when I don’t, he playfully tugs on the hem of my shirt. “Are you going to let me out?”
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“I have some things I have to take care of.”
His hand remains on my shirt, his fingers playing with the fabric. “You have things to take care of here too.” Good Lord, did that just come out of my mouth? My cheeks blush from my boldness, but it must do the trick because Roark groans and closes the space between us, pushing me against the door.
The hand playing with my shirt now slides to my bare skin, his thumb rubbing over my exposed hip bone. His other hand falls to the door, next to my head, bracing him. His forehead connects with mine and his nose rubs against mine for a few heartbeats.
My breath stills in my lungs as white-hot temptation courses through me. Be patient, let him make the move.
“Why are you so goddamn perfect?”
“I’m far from perfect, Roark.”
His gaze connects with mine. “You’re perfect in my eyes.”
His searing yet beautiful eyes bore a hole straight to my heart, seizing the breath from my lungs and halting the blood pumping in my veins.
Please just kiss me.
Every muscle, every bone in my body vibrates with need for this man. Just one taste, that’s all I want, one little taste to let me know what it’s like to have his lips on mine.
His hand moves up my side as his breath starts to pick up. I can feel it, him wavering, his wall cracking and crumbling. I can sense his indecision. I can feel his need for me in the firm grasp he has on my body. He wants this, just as much as I do.
Unable to take the standstill anymore, I hook my fingers through his belt loops and bring him in closer. He sucks in a breath as I move one of my hands to his jacket and unzip it, only to slip my hand under the tan sweater he has draped over his body. Who is this vixen, and what has she done with sweet and demure Sutton?
Almost as if he’s in pain, his eyes squeeze shut. “Sutton.”
My nose nuzzles against his, our breath mixing together, our lips inches apart. “Kiss me, Roark.”
“Sutton,” he repeats, this time more strained.
“Please, Roark. Just kiss me.” My hand travels over his rippled abs that contract and flinch under my touch.
His grip on my side grows tighter, his hand spanning over my ribs. “Do you know what I want?” he asks, his nose running down the side of my head to my collarbone. “I want to peel these clothes off you, slowly, then take you to your bed and spread your legs wide.” My breath catches in my chest. “I would kiss every last inch of your legs until I reach your pussy that would be so goddamn wet and ready for me, but I wouldn’t kiss you there. Instead, I would kiss you from your stomach to your tits, where I would worship them.” His lips glide over my skin but never move, almost just a hover of a touch. “Sucking, pinching, nipping. I would taste every inch of them until your hands were pulling on my hair, your moans begging for release, your body writhing underneath mine.”
A low gasp escapes me, because I’m unable to hide how much I want everything he described. Every kiss. Every touch. Every taste. I want it all. Need it all.
“Then I would lower to your legs and do the whole thing all over again until you come from my kisses alone. I would watch you fall apart underneath me and then . . . I would leave.”
“What?” I ask, as if he just performed that entire seduction on me and said he was leaving. “Why?”
“Because,” he murmurs against my skin before pulling away and looking me in the eyes. He pinches my chin with his forefinger and thumb. “You deserve more than me, Sutton.
He pushes off the door, grabs my hand, and helps move me to the side. Shocked and stunned, and also ridiculously turned on, I’m unable to protest as he opens the door and walks halfway out of my apartment. “I’ll see you later, Sutton.”