After Hours (InterMix)(49)

The champagne was making me eager. I finished my glass long before Kelly did his, and he poured me a second. I set it on the table after a sip, and as I settled back against his side, my hands got ideas. Gaze on the screen—where I had absolutely no clue what was going on in the movie—I turned and rubbed Kelly’s chest. Just to feel how hard it was. He kneaded my shoulder in reply, shifted his legs.

After a minute’s idle caressing, I looked up at him, fingers dawdling along his tee shirt collar. For a long moment he just stared back, then very slowly, he leaned in and kissed me.

He kept his mouth closed, and we didn’t dissolve into a melee of groping as I’d expected. Not for a lack of chemistry, either. His advances were measured. A gentle tangling of his fingers in my hair, a steady deepening of the kiss. His tongue brushed mine, drawing blood to heat my cheeks and tingle between my thighs, and I heard something explode on-screen.

I felt delicate far too often lately, and the way Kelly treated me, all gruff and pushy, made me feel like he thought I could take it. Like I was unbreakable, even if I didn’t feel that way all the time.

This man on the couch, kissing me, was warm and sensual, and nearly tender.

But he wasn’t the man I’d come here to f*ck.

I broke our mouths apart. “I think I’m ready. For you to take over, I mean.”

“Gimme a safe word, just in case.”

I stared blankly in the direction of the kitchen. “Spatula?”

“That’ll work. And if for some reason you can’t talk—”

I imagined my mouth too stuffed full of Kelly’s cock to articulate my needs.

“—just do something three times. Poke me or snap your fingers, or knock on something, or use your teeth, whatever. Three times. Real clear.”

“Sure.”

“You got any triggers I should know about? Any fears?” he asked.

“Centipedes.”

“I don’t think that’ll come up.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“Finish your champagne.”

Just the way he said it, I knew it was game on.

Behind narrowed lids his eyes were ice, and they followed my every motion as I leaned forward for my glass, and emptied it in two swallows. He took it from my hand and set it roughly on the table. When his fingers returned to my hair, they clutched tighter, and his lips didn’t kiss—they claimed. He angled his face and consumed me, my pleasure spiking alongside a taste of fear.

This was the man who’d half forced his way into my bed, who’d half dictated and half intuited my boundaries, and half ignored them once they were established. As we kissed his hands cradled my jaw, stroked my neck and shoulder. I could feel him examining me, like some new purchase he was admiring, some shiny new toy. We pulled away after a few minutes, my lips already tender.

“C’mere,” Kelly muttered, and leaned back into the cushions, patting his thighs to say I should sit on his lap.

I felt heavy and clumsy as I took the order, worried my hair was in his face, that he wasn’t comfortable. Then he jerked my legs wider so my calves dangled beside his, tugged me closer by the waist until I felt his belt buckle, a hard bite against my spine. Cool air kissed my inner thighs, my skirt creeping up toward my hips. I swallowed, woozy, self-consciousness lost in a cloud of lust.

Beneath me he shifted, erection insistent at my butt. “Feel that?”

I managed to murmur a shallow, “Yeah.”

His palms slid to my breasts, cupping gruffly. My civilized host was gone, the change so stark I imagined a bunch of sheep’s clothing must be lying in a heap beside the couch. Every iteration of Kelly was gone, save for the one who’d forced my orgasms that night in my bed. The scary one. The one whose crass promises had kept me up nights and lured me here.

Low, dark words warmed my cheek. “You been making me suffer for a while now.”

“Sorry,” I murmured.

His mouth went to my ear, so close I felt his lips move as he whispered, “Hush. You only speak when I ask you a question.”

The statement dunked me in ice water then encased me in steam—sensory whiplash. I couldn’t draw a real breath, couldn’t clear my head. His thumbs brushed the sides of my breasts, palms cupping more roughly. I felt spread open and helpless, pressed to his strong, ready body but unable to see him.

“Watch the movie,” Kelly ordered.