Scandalized(52)
I grin, and my cheeks heat. “Really?”
“Really.”
I close my eyes, thinking. “I haven’t really done that in a while.”
“Then think about me,” he prompts quietly. And then adds, “Tell me about the time you liked the most.”
“That is an impossible request.”
“Pick one. Don’t think.”
His full mouth flashes in my mind. “The first hotel room in LA.”
“Why that one?” I can hear his smile, like he already knows the answer.
My hand slips over my breast. I was still a little mad at him, full of heat and sharp edges. I remember his kiss on the swell of my breast, the way he groaned. The wet, placating circle of his tongue on the peak. And then the obliterating heat of his lips trailing down my body. “You put your mouth on me.”
I hear another man’s voice greeting him and then a car door closes. “In the car now,” he says quietly. Formally. “You’ll need to walk me through this from here on out.”
My hand stills on my breast. “I—” I open my eyes, blink up at the ceiling. “You want me to get myself off while you just listen?”
“Yes.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I don’t usually talk.”
“I honestly can’t tell you how thrilled I am about this collaboration,” he says with a laugh in his voice.
“Shit.” I laugh into the phone. “You’re serious?”
“Very much so.”
I swallow audibly. “I feel a little self-conscious.”
“That’s fine,” he says. “Take your time.”
Am I doing this? I close my eyes, letting the calm resonance of his voice bring me to a place where I can begin to pretend my hand is him, that he’s not in a car somewhere, listening to my every sound.
“Do you remember how I sat on your lap that day?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“I made you stay still so I could kiss you all over your face.” He hums in acknowledgment. “I think I wanted to convince myself you were real.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And you let me. But you slid your hands up under my shirt.”
He pauses. “I recall.”
“I love the way your big hands hold me.”
“Hold what part, specifically.”
“My breasts.”
“That’s right.” His voice is so measured and professional and somehow it makes my skin heat.
“You rolled over onto me,” I say, teasing the peak. “You love my chest.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
He clears his throat. Right.
But then he answers anyway. “It’s the ideal proportion.”
I laugh into the phone. “That sounded porny. I bet the driver is listening now.”
“I doubt it.” Alec laughs quietly. “Go ahead.”
“You like the taste of my skin?”
A deceptively even: “Very much.”
My hand moves lower. “I wish you were here kissing me.”
“Where are you in the script right now,” he says, “if I may ask?”
“Your mouth is kissing down my stomach.”
“Okay. Continue.”
I reach lower, and suck in a breath. “I’m wet.”
He can’t stifle a quiet groan.
“I haven’t done this in—” I pull in more air, imagining him feeling this. “Since before London. Before you.”
“That’s right.”
“I imagine what you feel when you touch me here.”
He’s quiet on the other end.
“How soft it must feel.”
“Very.”
“If you touch me here, do you immediately want to push into me?”
“Yes,” he says with an edge, repeating more quietly, “Yes.”
I arch my neck, stroking. “It feels good.”
“Explain, if you don’t mind?”
“I’m imagining you kissing me here,” I say, and my skin grows warm, humming. “And how you started with just kissing but then licked me.”
“That sounds like a good progression.”
I love the deep rumble of his voice. “You were so sweet,” I say. “But when you put your fingers in…”
He’s quiet, but I can almost hear how he strains to hear every word.
“You just,” I say, pleasure climbing, “you fucked me.”
“Georgia.” A sharp, breathless reprimand, but it only makes me moan.
“So hard,” I whisper. “You were wild.”
“I know. I was.”
“Oh God, you liked it, didn’t you? How many fingers?”
“You tell me.”
“Three.” My fingers circle; tension builds in my spine. “I couldn’t spread my legs any wider.”
“I know.”
“Are you hard?”
“Without question.” A car door slams, I hear his short, broken gusts as he walks. Very quietly he manages, “Use your other hand to touch your breasts.”
I do, and my eyes roll back, another sound escapes. “I’m close.”