Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(38)

“I miss you too,” I croak feelingly.

“I miss the taste of you, the feel of you, the sounds you make.” Clenching his jaw as if he’s remembering what it was like to miss me, he strokes his curled index finger down the line of my jaw, watching what he does. I watch the emotions play across his features as he opens his hand and caresses my face and neck. Determination. Hunger. Control.

I’m panting, aching, wanting, waiting. Holding me by the back of the neck, he pulls me up to a sitting position and in for another wet kiss. Leisurely, his mouth slants from one side to the other as he tastes me from all angles. I feel delicious, juicy, luscious. Wanting to taste him just as thoroughly too, I draw his tongue into my mouth and suck, surprised by how the sucking motion causes every centimeter of my body to squeeze and Saint to reflexively tighten his hold on me.

He groans and draws me onto his lap and shifts me so that I straddle him, then he lowers the top of my dress with a little tug at the elastic of my strapless.

“Malcolm, what are you doing?” I gasp, covering my chest with my arms as my breasts pop free.

“I’m looking at you.” Completely shameless and in control, he takes both my arms and lowers them to my sides.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, embarrassed to realize he’s probably noticed I used nipple stickers to keep from having to use a bra tonight. I didn’t want my nipples to be poking out, and now my perky breasts are staring up at him with two small, round tan stickers on them.

He runs his thumbs over each. My sex squeezes when I notice his gaze is loving, appraising, possessive. And dark. So very, very dark.

“I meant to take them off before you saw,” I whisper.

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’ll do it.” Then he leans close and kisses one tip of my breast over the sticker. Then the other, his lips warm and gentle. He then raises his head as he seizes each sticker between his thumbs and fingers and looks into my eyes as he gently pulls off one, then the other.

A frisson of need runs through me.

The act is strangely intimate. Looking into each other’s eyes as he does this to me.

He lifts his thumb to his mouth and my sex tightens when he licks it. He does the same with his other thumb. Then he uses both to rub my nipples clean, and I almost moan out loud.

He speaks to me in a thick voice—my toes curling. I can feel how hard he is between my legs. “They’re all mine now,” he says.

He centers me on his lap again and drags the skirt of my dress up to my hips, and once it’s bunched up where he wants it, he ducks his head to take one nipple into his mouth, and when he covers the hardened little point with heat and wet, I rock my hips against his hardness. “Saint,” I beg.

He releases my breast and looks at me. He looks as if he wants to devour me whole as he leans in to continue kissing my lips.

He just won’t stop kissing me, his hands cupping my ass as he draws me up tighter against his erection.

I quiver in need. “Oh god.”

Gasping, I rake my nails against his scalp as I drag my mouth across any part of him that I can: the crown of his head that smells of shampoo, his shadowed, raspy jaw. Then I bite his earlobe. My body’s acting of its own will, pressing closer, a moan leaving me when he rubs my nipples with his thumbs in the most delicious, heart-stoppingly slow way.

I want to make out forever, and I want to let go when he can let go with me. But he’s hard between my legs, his mouth is killing me, and I feel the tension in my body tighten and tighten for orgasm.

“We need to stop,” I groan apologetically, fisting a handful of his hair. “I’m at the edge already, and I don’t want to be there alone.”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

He grabs the back of my neck and only kisses me the rest of the way to his place, and when the car turns into the building’s driveway, he stops with one last grazing kiss on the corner of my mouth as he tugs the skirt of my dress down and then pulls the rest of my strapless back up.

I try to pull myself together and fix my hair, a little mortified. “I can’t imagine how I look.”

He runs his eyes quickly over me. “You look ravishing.”

“Ravished by you,” I say, shoving his shoulder a little bit with a laugh.

He grins. “Yes.”

He smoothes a hand down my back as he leads me into the lobby of his apartment building.

“Mr. Saint,” he’s greeted by the staff.

He just lifts his hand in greeting.

Once in an elevator, I get a glimpse of us in the mirror and he looks divine, his lips a little pink, his hair a little messed up, and I look kind of sultry, my hair slightly mussed, eyes heavy. As we ride the elevator to the penthouse, a couple rides with us, and I try to behave and keep my hands at my sides. The couple is whispering and I realize they know who he is. And maybe they even know who I am.

“Good night!” they say effusively as they step out.

“Good night,” Saint murmurs as I smile and nod at them.

The elevator doors shut and he tugs me back to him, his head sweeping down. We kiss, softly, until the ting, and then he pulls away, his eyes as heavy as mine feel.

I’m shaking in anticipation when he takes my hand and draws me into his apartment.

He leaves me to press a wall switch to turn on a few dim lights, tosses his jacket aside, drops his cell phone, and kicks off his shoes.