Rogue (Real #4)(88)
He chuckles a low, deep sound. “You don’t rule a snake pit gently, but I’d rather use a firm but gentle hand on my princess.”
“Mm. And I hope you know in my instance, one hand won’t do. You have to use two!”
We laugh, and he nuzzles me as we do. I love how he calls me princess even when he’s no prince. But in my heart, he’s so much more. He’s my King.
? ? ?
IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT when we reach our apartment building. Of course it was his apartment, but he asked me to move in, and now it’s mine too.
We’re crossing our building lobby, his hand laced with mine, when he presses the elevator button and then surprises me by scooping me up in his arms. “Um? I can walk?” I say.
“I know you can do many things, including driving me crazy with that very walk, but you’re going to need your energy for what we’re about to do. So sit tight and hang on.”
I grin up at him and do exactly as he asks, whispering in his ear as we ride to the top, “Nothing makes me feel as alive as you do. Smelling you, feeling you, loving you.” I kiss his thick throat and the back of his ear, glad we’re alone in the elevator so I can nip and lovingly kiss any part I can reach. “I love you,” I whisper, closing my eyes and inhaling him, rubbing my hands up the plackets of his suit. “I love you so much, I missed the smell of your skin and your hair and your shirts.”
He cups my skull and tips my head around to his. “Melanie.” My heart hurts from the way he looks at me, like I’m a living, breathing dream of his.
He takes my mouth in a long, hot kiss until we reach our floor. Then he carries me out of the elevator and into our apartment. I play with his shirt collar and whisper, “Set me down so I can take off my shoes and hang up the dress you got me.”
He drops a kiss on my mouth and sets me down, then locks the door behind us. “One minute. No more.”
I love the feel I get when we walk into this place. I’ve decorated it because the man can’t expect us to live forever in Sparta, and I’m trying to build us a home now. It was a giant step in my life, to move in with a man. A man I love. A man who’s dangerous, powerful, elusive, giving, secretive, all of the above. A man who, despite all that, I trust to protect me.
“I can barely get used to living here with you,” I confess as I admire my handiwork. The artwork over the stone chimney. The trio of live plants, some taller than others, by the window.
“And I can’t get used to the shit I need to live with in order to live with you.”
I laugh, then smile shyly as he follows me toward the bedroom area. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it because I’ve asked your opinion on it all. And I’m not done yet, you know. I want to paint the master bedroom royal blue and add some purple to our living room. And then I plan—”
“Enough, baby.”
We’ve reached the bedroom space, and he’s tugging his tie loose. Oh my . . .
Can he be any sexier, please?
Oh. My. He’s very determined tonight. Tossing his tie aside. Easing off his jacket.
“You can do anything you want with my apartment as long as I get to do anything I want with you,” he tells me in his most sexy voice.
I don’t stand a chance.
Nor do I want to.
I take off my heels—the black ones with the red sole he bought me—and I carefully set them aside. “Make me any indecent proposal you want, the answer is yes, Mr. King.”
“Right answer, princess.” Eyes twinkling, he pulls my panties out of his jacket and holds them out, then he crooks his finger with his free hand. “Come here, princess,” he finally murmurs—the command sensual. Hot.
“I am here,” I counter.
He tosses my panties onto a chair by the window. “You’re over on the other side of the bed. And I want you here.”
Oh my. Really. He wants me right where he is. He starts to unbutton his shirt and all that tan skin of his peeks out to tempt all of my fingers. I begin walking toward him, hearing him murmur—that’s right, princess—his voice a shiver down my nape as he closes the last steps—the last steps—to me. I start shaking with adrenaline as I grab the back of his head and immediately trail my lips across his hard jaw, then I whisper in his ear, “Yes.”
He groans hoarsely, running his hands up my back, holding me against his body—his impressive erection pressing into my pelvis. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask . . .” he huskily counters.
“It’s yes, Greyson,” I whisper, looking up into his hard face. “I want to feel you. I want nothing between us. We’ve already discussed it. I’m on the pill, and you’re clean and you’re mine. So it’s yes, you perfect, sexy man. Fuck me, love me, fight with me, spoil me, just don’t leave me.”
“Melanie.”
My name is whispered like a prayer. Within seconds, he pulls open the last buttons off his shirt and tosses it aside, and he’s gloriously bare-chested and crushing me against him. He’s so hot, muscled, strong, resilient, and buzzing like a live wire in my arms.
Suddenly I’m frantic. “Greyson, get me naked and get inside me.”
I’m rubbing his strong muscles, eagerly dropping kisses on the corner of his lips, his throat, his shoulders as I unbuckle his belt and pull it off his slacks.