Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(54)

“How do you feel about dessert?” he asks abruptly, standing and picking up the plates.

I grab the wineglasses and follow him from the dining area to his kitchen. “I feel like I love the idea in theory, but I can’t fathom eating another bite of anything.”

“Good,” Ian murmurs, pulling me close as soon as I set the glasses on the counter by the plates.

A little part of me thinks I should protest. That it’s too soon, that I’m not ready . . .

They’re lies. It feels like I’ve waited forever for someone to want me the way he does. And I’ve definitely waited forever for someone to make me feel the way he does.

I don’t feel like playing shy. I don’t want to be coy.

I want him.

The kiss starts slow and a little sweet. The kind of soft teasing of lips that’s a deliberate, delicious buildup promising more to come.

It escalates in little, sexy ways. His fingers digging into my hips, a little desperate. My nails scraping at his shoulders through the shirt, a little greedy.

His tongue coaxes my lips apart, and the moment it brushes mine, the kiss turns from sweet to scorching.

I don’t know if he moves first or if I do, but a second later I’m pinned against the counter, his palm cupping the back of my head, his mouth slanted over mine as we devour each other.

Without breaking contact with my mouth, Ian lifts me up on the counter, and my legs wind around his waist, pulling him close—needing him.

All of him.

I’ve never felt this way, never felt like all that really matters is within arm’s reach, if only I’d be brave enough to take it.

I want to be brave.

My fingers slide under his shirt.

Ian goes still, pulling back just enough that I can still feel his warm breath on my mouth. “Lara.”

My hands glide farther up his back. “Ian.”

He presses his hand over mine. “I don’t have a lot of control right now. If you touch me, really touch me, I’m going to have to touch you, and then—”

“So touch me.”

He pulls back farther and pins me with that ridiculously attractive blue gaze. “You’re sure?”

I take a deep breath, and before I can chicken out, I pull my shirt over my head. “I’m sure.”

Ian makes a sound that’s half prayer, half strangulation as he looks down at my black lace bra.

Hey, I’m not going to say I planned for this, but I prepared. Just in case.

He trails his fingers lightly across my chest as his eyes greedily take me in, as I shove the shirt farther up his abs. “Off.”

He reaches down, pulls it over his head. He’s not wearing an undershirt. It’s just him, and holy hell, can you say perfection?

He’s tan and toned, and everywhere I look, he just gets better and better.

I touch my hand to his stomach. “Abs. I’ve never been with someone with actual abs.”

“Abs are boring,” he says, reaching around to unclasp my bra. “These, though,” he says reverently as my breasts fall free of the lace. “These are spectacular.”

My boobs are average. I know this. But the way Ian worships them, first with his hands, then his mouth, makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

His tongue strokes wetly over the tip of one breast, then the other, until I can’t catch my breath. Then his eyes flick up to mine at the exact moment he wraps his mouth around my nipple and sucks, an unapologetically wicked moment.

With every lick, every light scrape of his teeth, he seduces me a little further until I’m arching into him with unmistakable invitation.

Ian’s hands skim down my calves, ensuring my feet are hooked securely around his waist before scooping me off the counter.

“Impressive,” I murmur, skimming my lips over the hard plane of his cheek as he walks me toward the bedroom.

And it is. I don’t have a lot of experience, but the scoop-up-and-carry routine has been the stuff of my dirty fantasies, not real life.

But Ian’s real. He’s real, and he makes me feel both feminine and powerful, and it’s a delicious feeling.

At least until he lays me on his bed and reality sets in.

He’s in the process of unbuckling his belt when I jolt upright and crab-walk backward for some distance.

He goes still. “Lara, I’m sorry. I thought—”

“No,” I say, holding up a hand. “No, you thought right. It’s just being here in your . . .” I look around at the unmistakably masculine room. “I’m just suddenly aware that you do this a lot. Maybe in this very bed. And I . . . don’t.”

His eyes light with understanding, and though he finishes removing his belt and kicks off his shoes, the pants are still very much on when he casually plops on the bed.

He pats the spot beside him. “C’mere.”

I shake my head.

Ian rolls his eyes and reaches out, hauling me to him. I gasp a little when my bare breasts collide with his chest.

He tunnels his fingers in my hair, locking his gaze on mine. “Use that brilliant brain of yours to listen and listen good. You’re the only woman I’m thinking about, the only woman I’ve thought about since I saw you that first day in the break room.”

“Really?” I search his features but see only honesty there.