A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(139)

We forget about everyone else. We’re only focused on each other.

It’s dark inside, the curtains open to let in the light from the skyscrapers, and when he pulls me to him, I go willingly. A soft moan leaves me when he races his hands up and down my sides, his fingers gathering the fabric of my dress.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he says just before his mouth is on mine and I open to him completely, my tongue darting out to meet his. The kiss is decadent. His mouth tastes of champagne and when his hands slip beneath the hem of my dress to land on my bare backside, I shiver.

He goes completely still. “You don’t have panties on.”

“I don’t have a bra on either,” I tell him.

The hungry gleam in his eyes sends heat rushing between my legs and he quickly turns me around so my back is to him. He drifts his fingers across my exposed skin before tugging on the zipper. Pulling it down until the dress becomes loose on my body, falling forward. He pushes it off of me with impatient hands until it’s a heap around my feet and I kick it away, about to slip off my gold stiletto sandals when he stops me, his hand resting on my naked hip.

“Keep them on,” he practically growls.

I do as he asks, and when he turns me to face him once more, our mouths meet hungrily, his hands seemingly everywhere at once. On my waist, my hips. My breasts. My nipples. He cups me between my thighs, his fingers teasing, dipping inside, and I relax my thigh muscles as much as I can, wanting more.

“I want to fuck you against the wall.”

My entire body lights up at his suggestion.

Hmm. We’ve never done that before.

Next thing I know I’m against his bedroom wall, close to the windows, the city lit up before us. In the recent past, I would be freaking out, afraid someone might see us. Me. Completely naked.

Now I don’t even care. I’m too drunk on desire for him. The need to feel him moving inside my body overpowering everything else.

Slowly, he presses his fully-clothed body into my naked one and I hiss out a breath, my skin coming alive at the brush of his shirt and pants on my skin. He kisses my neck, his hands lightly resting on my hips, his mouth drifting down to my collarbone. My chest. He bends his knees, his lips wrapping around one nipple, and I thrust my hands in his hair, holding him to me.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my chest, his hand slipping down to stroke between my legs. I’m wet. I can hear his fingers slick through my desire, and I close my eyes, lightly banging the back of my head against the wall. Overcome already by his touch.

When he rises up and takes my mouth once more, his fingers still busy between my thighs, all I can do is let him stroke me, my knees threatening to buckle. He circles and rubs my clit, pleasure spiraling through me, and I know I’m close. I reach for his belt buckle, fumbling with it so badly, he bats my hand away and takes over. Undoes the belt, unzips his trousers and then I’m the one who’s slipping my hand into his pants, curling my fingers around his erection.

Next thing I know, I’m being lifted up, my legs going around his waist, his erection free and right where I need him the most. He slams into me so hard I lose my breath, his cock sliding in and out of my body while I cling to him, my mouth open against his neck, my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His hips piston against mine, his speed increasing with his every thrust, and I go completely still, already on the verge of an orgasm.

He knows just how to touch me—and where. My whimpers are an indication of what I want, where I want it, and he knows.

Already he understands my body and can give it exactly what I want.

What I need.

My climax comes out of nowhere and is so strong, I struggle to breathe, my mind a complete blank. The only thing I can concentrate on is the intense tremors wracking my body. Radiating throughout my limbs. It goes on and on, like it’s never going to stop, and I swear at one point, my heart stops beating.

He comes too, a low groan sounding from deep in his chest, rippling across my skin. When it’s over, he presses me into the wall with all of his weight, my sweat-covered skin clinging to his clothes, our bodies still connected. He throbs inside me, his breath harsh, irregular. His mouth close to my ear.

“I like watching you when you come,” he whispers, and I duck my head, still shy sometimes, which is silly.

He has seen me naked so many times over the last few weeks, it’s not even funny.

I nod, still unable to speak. Too overwhelmed by what he makes me feel.

Everything we do together—especially this—feels so good, so right. I’m connected to him in a way that I don’t have with anyone else.

Not my friends. Not my family.

No one.

Just him.

His mouth brushes my ear as he whispers, “I can make that happen again.”

“I know you can.” I smile. I wonder if he can hear it in my voice.

“I do it all the time,” he continues.

A soft laugh leaves me.

“You laugh, but you know it’s true.” He nips my lobe with his teeth. “I can make you come again and again. All night, if you’ll let me.”

A soft sigh escapes me, and when he nuzzles my neck, Crew whispers, “Say something.”

“I love you,” is what I tell him, and he lifts his head so he can stare into my eyes.

“I love you too.” His smile is one of pure satisfaction.