Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(23)

When Russell reached the door, he laid a big hand on the jamb and turned, features tight as he looked everywhere but at her.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the train.”

Sti cazza. In another, more appropriate term, screw this. With a silent prayer for courage, Abby found the hem of her sundress and peeled the garment over her head, letting it fall to the floor. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

There was a split second where she almost scooped her dress off the floor and covered herself back up. Russell might have seen her bare butt Monday night, but she’d never been seen in less than a bathing suit. Not by a man. Thanks to the pale color of her strapless dress, she’d worn a white, strapless bra and matching thong and—crap—was that even sexy? She had no earthly idea.

Doubts fell from her consciousness like a cup of overturned paper clips when Russell stalked forward, prowling across the room and shifting the air around her. This impulsive disrobing had started as an act of rebellion, but now a furnace blast hit her head to toe. The raindrops pelted the window in time with her jumping pulse. The fierceness in his eyes told her to expect being pinned against the wall again, but it never happened. Instead, he fell to his knees in front of her, gripped her bottom . . .

And buried his face between her thighs.

A multitude of new sensations overwhelmed Abby, sending her falling back against the wall. His stubble rasped over her smooth skin, his rough hands yanking her hips closer so he could rub his mouth back and forth over her most sensitive spot. Cursing over and over under his breath, he pressed his forehead tight against her core, nudged and dragged, all through her cotton panties. There wasn’t a part of his face that didn’t touch her, burn her through the material.

Very slowly, he stood, trailing his tongue up her belly until he reached her breasts. As he stared, his gaze voracious, her nipples went so tight, it hurt to keep them contained. Before she could remove her bra, Russell’s voice grated along her firing nerve endings. “All that, everything I said, and you still want it, angel?” The hint of pain in his tone had her reaching for him, but he grabbed her wrists. “You’ll be sorry.”

“Stop acting like you’ll hurt me. You couldn’t.”

Russell released a shaky exhale. “You’ve misplaced your faith in me.” He freed her hands, only to flick open the front snap of her bra. “I should be zipping you back into your girl-next-door dress and sending you home with those cupcakes.” Both sides of her bra were shoved aside, exposing her peaked breasts. Russell muttered something that sounded like little peaches, before his hands closed around them and lifted, squeezed, massaged. “Instead of sending you home, I’m going to find out what a virgin tastes like.”

Her feet left the floor as Russell swung her into his arms, turned, and placed her on the worktable. Despite the abrasive surface, Abby could only replay his words. Could only experience the massive anticipation as Russell peeled off his T-shirt to reveal the tattooed, hair-covered chest she’d been fantasizing about since Monday night.

“You like the way I look?” Hands braced on either side of her hips, he leaned down and sucked her left nipple into his mouth. “That’s good, angel. You’re looking at the first man to tongue-f*ck your uptown *.”

Blood roared in her ears, keeping time with the storm outside. A burst of irritation tried to wend its way through her need, but she fought it off. So close. She was so close to feeling something she’d always wondered about. “I love the way you look,” she said. “I wish I could see all of you.”

His jaw flexed. “If I showed you all of me right now, I’d have to give you all of me.” He licked across to her right breast and flicked her nipple with his tongue. “And if you want to know the truth, I haven’t stroked myself off since last night. It would be too hard and too fast. You’d walk funny for a week.”

“Oh. That wouldn’t be good,” she murmured, her words ending in a sob as he pushed her knees wider. As if he was mad at her for not taking him to task over his blunt speech. Even now, was he hoping she would call it off? She didn’t understand the sudden pang of tenderness for him, only knew she’d missed something along the way. Something he was experiencing alone. Before she could check the impulse, Abby reached out and cupped his stubbled face. “I haven’t stroked myself off since last night, either, if it makes you feel better.”

A laugh boomed out of him before he cut it off with a single shake of his head. “Fuck, Abby,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m not good enough to stop now. You’re my f*cking wet dream sitting there in those white panties.”

“You dream about me?”

This time, his laugh was all pain, no humor. By way of response, he curled his fingers around the crotch of her panties, nudging her clit in the process, and stripped them down her body. “Get on your damn back, Abby.”

She hadn’t even finished reclining onto the coarse surface when Russell’s mouth found her. At first, just the explicitness of having another person touching her so intimately sent a thrill blasting up her spine. Like before, when she’d worn her panties, he chafed her center with his face. Cheeks, chin, mouth. Making her feel cherished in a way maybe he didn’t know how to vocalize? No. Stop thinking. Focus on the—

Pleasure. Abby’s body convulsed on a moan. Holy shit. Her hands scrambled for something to anchor her to the table as the physical equivalent of a scream went off below her belly button. Her belly bottomed out like she’d just flipped upside down on a roller coaster. She’d touched herself in the same place many times, but the smooth glide of Russell’s tongue would forever ruin self-pleasure for her. With his left hand, he traced a pattern up her arched torso to palm her breast, his tongue busy on her clit. Automatically, she rushed to cup the other one, rub a thumb over her aching nipple so she could experience the answering tug between her legs.