Page 31 of Burn

My mouth moves to her neck when her head twists, refusing to break our contact again.

With both my hands on her ass, I drop the keys on the floor somewhere and kick the door shut behind me.

“Probably not,” I tell her, mouth on her collarbone. “But my room’s upstairs.”

“Take me there. Now,” she pleads, lips on mine.

Wrapping her legs tighter around me, I carry her to the stairs, knocking over the table beside the door and sending the pile of hats, my own off my head, spare change bowl and keys to the floor. It crashes around us, tiny pings and thuds, but I don’t stop to clean it up, my hands and actions nearing frantic, and she is right there with me.

She’s kissing me everywhere she can, whether it be my lips, cheek, jaw, ears . . . anything, and practically clawing at me. It fuels the fire inside of me, and I slam her against the closet door next to the stairs, dragging the length of my erection against her again just to satisfy the ache if only for a second.

My keys get kicked aside and we’re moving toward the stairs.

Mila moans into my mouth but says nothing, only kisses me harder, her hands on my shoulders tightening into fists around my jacket like they did in the elevator. She’s tearing at the collar, desperate for more, her want undeniable.

I don’t have the greatest grip on her, and the moment I begin to walk, my shoes slide against the tile entryway. I nearly drop her twice, but we land on the stairs with a laugh. She lies back on her forearms, shaking her head.

Christ, I have to get her upstairs. Jacey will kill me if I fuck another girl on the stairs, or walks in and I’m in the middle of it. Both have happened. A few times.

I take the moment to kick my shoes off and then I’m picking her up again, intent on getting her to my bed. No more messing around.

We make it two steps, and Mila lets go of my neck and rips her shirt over her head letting it fall away. I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Fuck, she has the most amazing tits. Better than Gemma’s for sure.

Remember when I said Mila was way out of my fucking league and belongs on the cover of aVictoria’s Secretmagazine? It’s pretty damn evident now. Between her creamy olive skin, dark hair and blue eyes, she’s like a Brazilian beauty I have no business having in my bed.

I’m one lucky son of a bitch for sure.

She says something, but I don’t hear it. My breathing, embarrassingly harsh, drowns out words.

I twist slightly and lay her against the stairs. With one leg bent, I lean into her, my hands eagerly seeking out her beautiful perky fucking tits, squeezing, and then replacing my hands with my mouth. My tongue swirls over her hardened pink nipples, lapping at them like they’re my reason for living. At this point, they are. Only thing better would be my mouth on her pussy.

I’ll get there eventually, I’m sure of it, butthisis fucking heaven.

Drawing each one into my mouth, I groan around them and bite down softly. I do that with her right breast, and then her left before my mouth moves over the valley between them, licking up her chest, a man dying of thirst. Grunting, my hands drop from her breasts to the stairs when my mouth finds hers again, hovering over her in a predatory way. It is predatory. I’m seconds away from attacking this poor woman.

“Get me to your bed, now,” she moans, frantically jerking at my shoulders, angling her hips on the stairs to make direct contact with my impulsive-need-for-friction cock.

Leaning back, my hands shake like a goddamn teenager when I move them from the stairs. Taking her hands from around my neck, I pin them over her head. “I’m in control here, honey. Not you.” My penetrating stare locks on hers as I move my hips, once, twice, three times . . . a jolt of pleasure jumping through my body from my groin all the way up my spine.

Okay, man, get to the bed. You’ve done enough dry humping tonight.

I can feel the rise and fall of her chest and the pounding in mine.

My eyes squeeze shut, my body trembling, mouth crashing against hers. Our teeth knocking together in a desperate way, searching for a rhythm, but I can’t. All I know is this, on the edge of our control.

Mila starts working on the button of her jeans and I know I have to get her upstairs, now. With one last thrust against her hips, forceful, promising, I take a step back, my hands snaking around her waist as I haul her up around my waist again.

I’m certainly used to carrying people downstairs, but going up, and having them wrapped around my waist is surprisingly more difficult.

Mila laughs when we reach the top of the stairs looking around the room suspiciously over her shoulder. “Uh, this isn’t a room, Caleb. It’s a loft. Where’s your door?”

“There’s a bed.” My mouth refuses to move from hers again. It’s completely mission bound at this point. “That’s all that matters.” I kiss her, long and passionately, my lips seeking out her semiparted ones.

She won’t let me and pulls back, raising an eyebrow. “But there’re no walls or door.”

“Does it matter?”

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