Page 103 of Crazy Thing

A growl leaves his throat. “I’m taking you to bed.”

“Darius! You maniac!” My laughter echoes off the walls, the framed artwork whizzing by me in a blur as he sprints across the concrete floors.

I hear the ding of an elevator—a freaking elevator!—and Darius stomps inside.

Before I can get a good look around, he’s pressed me against the mirrored wall. His honey eyes stare into the deepest shadows of my soul. “I am a maniac. I’m crazy. I’m crazy about you. This is what you’ve done to me.”

Then, he’s ravishing me with an earth-shifting kiss as the elevator ascends. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but some low-slung pajama pants. I let my hands roam, eager to touch and stroke and feel every corded inch of his muscle-bound body.

A moment later, Darius is stumbling down another hallway with me in his arms. He elbows open a heavy wooden door and lowers me onto a mattress that feels like a cloud. He’s on top of me and my legs are wrapped around him and we’re making out like the world is coming to an end.

“You’re here…” He exhales contentedly. “What made you change your mind?” he asks, his lips against mine.

“I thought about what you said.” I rake my fingers through his hair. “About my parents. About how I was letting them control me indirectly by not allowing myself to enjoy the things I want.”

“And what do you want, Ziggy?” His finger traces along my lower lip. I shiver.

“I want to be here with you tonight,” I confess, feeling raw and open.

With a sound of approval, Darius gives me another deep, hungry kiss. “I’m so glad you came back,” he says into the air between us.

The room is so dark, I can hardly make out the features of his gorgeous face. That’s probably why it feels safe enough to say, “I missed you. I didn’t want to stay away.”

He groans, flipping us over so that I’m on top. “Well, you made the right decision.” I hear the wicked smile in his voice. “Now, I’m about to reward you.”

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he slides me off of his body. Now I’m standing between his powerful thighs.

I feel his hands slip beneath the hem of my T-shirt, large and warm as they grip my waist. He slowly rolls the fabric up my torso, his open lips dotting kisses along every inch of my skin that he reveals. The rough deliciousness of his day-old stubble tracing up my ribcage makes my knees weak.

My nipples prickle and my womanhood throbs withneed. “Darius…” I whisper his name, snaking my fingers through his hair.

Now, my T-shirt is somewhere on the floor. Darius unlatches the clasp of my bra and I groan when my breasts bounce free, right in his face.

“I need to see this.” He flicks on his bedside lamp and a warm, hazy light fills the space. He releases a low, primal sound of approval as his palms reverently cup the undersides of my breasts. “You’re killing me, Ziggy. So fucking beautiful. You’re killing me.” He gently weighs my globes then he leans in, snatching one nipple between his lips.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, my pussy walls clamping on nothing.

My hips begin to rock on their own. He’s barely started touching me and I’m already desperate for something to rub on, something to grind on. I need friction. I need it now.

“Touch me,” I cry softly, my fingernails biting into his scalp.

“Touch you where, baby?” I hear the hint of smugness in his voice when his mouth switches to my other nipple, leaving the first one wet and tingling and deprived.

“Between my legs.” I clench my thighs as my hips move faster, still humping the air. “Touch me between my legs.”

Darius chuckles. “Can I at least get a ‘please’? Like a good girl?”

What is this game he’s playing? Whatever it is, I’ll follow his rules. As long as it means he’ll touch me like I need him to.

“Please, Darius,” I breathe out. “Please touch me there.”

His hands possessively bracket my hips before he reaches behind me, slowly undoing the button of my skirt. The crinkled cotton falls around my ankles and his hand isbetween my legs, fingertips slipping beneath my underwear to feel me.

“Oh, yeah. You’redefinitelya good girl. So wet. You’re so fucking wet for me.” Darius’s teeth graze my hip and latch onto the waistband of my underwear.

“Hmmm.” The long, low sound is pained and desperate as it exits my throat. I buck my hips and groan as he slowly drags my panties down. “You’re torturing me,” I complain, impatient in my need for him.

He laughs quietly. “Being without you this evening was torture. So consider this my payback.” With his hands, he pulls my panties the rest of the way off. I eagerly step out of them.

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