Page 80 of Mr. Swoony

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his voice unsteady, so different from his usual cocky self. His gaze flicks to my mouth and back to my eyes, as if he’s still worried.

“If you ask me one more time, I’m going to find some other guy to fulfill my list with me.” I raise my eyebrows.

A low laugh slips from his lips. I tilt my chin up, his warm breath fanning my face, and I watch the hesitation in his gaze melt away until there is only desire. It steals my breath.

He kisses me again, deeper this time. His hand slides to the small of my back, anchoring me to him, and his erection presses into my stomach, making the space between my thighs hum with pleasure. His mouth moves against mine with hunger and unrestrained energy from having to wait this long to kiss me.

I swallow his moan. I’ve never felt more desired than he’s making me feel in this moment. With only one kiss, I’m dizzy and desperate for him. I can’t imagine how it will feel once I have him naked and under my fingertips.

His grip becomes firmer, as if he can’t bear for there to be any space between us. Our kiss is messy, raw, and full of emotion, building with a relentless intensity I’ve never experienced before. He closes the kiss, and I gasp against his mouth.

“Fuck, Eloise,” he whispers, his teeth grazing my bottom lip and sending a shiver down my spine.

My fingers tangle in his hair, not wanting this moment to end.

“Hey, you two!” Tweetie shouts down the hall. “Oh, sorry.”

I’m not sure what sign Conor gives him behind my back, but his lips capture mine again in a quick kiss. “Sorry, we gotta go.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the hallway but turns the opposite way of the ballroom at the end of the hall.

“It’s that way.” I point.

Conor maneuvers me so my back is pressed against the wall between the elevators, and he presses the button. “If you think I’m not taking you directly up to the room, you’re crazy. Get your list ready because we’re crossing some shit off tonight, and the first one is gonna be you coming all over my fucking face.”

My body warms as if my blood is lava, but I have no time to recover before the elevator dings, and we’re inside, my back to the wall, his hands clasping mine over my head, and his mouth devouring my neck.

“I wore this dress for nothing.” My breath is desperate and near panting.

He draws back, his fingers running over my spine. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been imagining taking it off you since the moment you walked out of that room earlier. You have no idea the amount of restraint I’ve had.”

The elevator dings, and the doors are barely open before Conor has us through them. He rushes down the hall, dragging me along with him. Not that I’m complaining.

He pulls the keycard out of his pocket and glances at me. “Ready to have your world rocked?”

I take the keycard from his grip, scan it over the lock, and push open the door with my back. “For the record, I’m going to rock your world.”

He chuckles, gripping my waist and pulling me into him. “You’ve been rocking my world for weeks, so I have no doubt.”

He kisses me again, and it’s messy, but at the same time, it’s everything. Everything I’ve wanted for so long, and now I’m finally getting it.

Thirty-Two

Eloise

Conor kisses me, walking us backward through the sitting area to his bedroom. His cologne still lingers in the room, and there’s something intimate about being in his space, even if it is just his hotel room.

He swivels me around, keeping his hands on my hips to steady me, then his fingertips inch up my side, finding my zipper. As he slides it down, freeing the snug fit from my body, his lips fall to my shoulder. “You have no idea how much I wanted this moment the minute you stepped out of your room earlier. The thought of being the lucky bastard to shed this from your skin had me hard the whole night.”

“We barely stayed at the party long enough.” I wrap my arm around him, my fingers weaving through his hair, not wanting him to pull his lips from my skin.

Conor’s mouth drifts up to the nape of my neck, his calloused fingers grazing up my bare arm, lowering the spaghetti strap from my shoulder. I slip my arm out, helping his quest.

“You should be down there for Jagger’s speech.” Even I can hear the complete lack of give-a-shit in my voice.

“I’m right where I should be.” He does the same with the strap on the other side and goose bumps follow his touch. “I should have made you do a striptease for me. Wasn’t that on your list?”

I moan, unable to answer the question he already knows the answer to because he’s pushing the fabric over my breasts and down my waist, past my hips before it puddles at my ankles.

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