Page 80 of Hot Lap
I grab his shirt, pull him in, and kiss him like I’ve been waiting since Vegas to do it right.
It’s not soft.
It’s not sweet.
It’s teeth and lips and a low groan from his throat that tells me he’s done pretending this isn’t everything he wants and needs too.
His hands slide down my back, my ass, gripping both cheeks like anchor points. My stilettos give me height, but he still lifts me like I weigh nothing, walking us back until my shoulders hit the wall and the breath punches outa me.
“I didn’t mean to leave you out,” he says between kisses. “I just didn’t know how to bring you in.”
“Try harder.”
He nods, breath ragged. “Yeah. I will.”
Then he kisses me like every second without my mouth on his was a mistake he’s finally correcting.
I moan, back arching against the wall, hands sliding beneath his shirt. Hard muscle, hot skin, rapid breath. Every inch of him is a live wire I wanna put my tongue on.
He pulls back and lets me stand, though I’m still caged by his hands and his body. “Are you sure?” His voice is hoarse and so sexy.
“Would I be dressed like this if I wasn’t?”
His gaze roams my body — corset, stockings, heels — and something in him unhinges. Whatever control he had snaps clean.
Reece drops to his knees in front of me because worship is instinctual.
He slides his hands up my thighs, slow and reverent, and I swear I could come from the way he’s looking up at me, like I’m everything he’s ever wanted and didn’t think he deserved.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He presses a kiss to my thigh, right where my stocking meets my garter. “And I’ve been a goddamn idiot.”
“You’re not forgiven yet.”
He grins against my skin. “No?”
“Fuck. No.”
He stands, lips brushing my belly, chest, neck. He slides his hand into my hair, fingers wrapping tight. He tilts my head back as he kisses me again. Deeper. Slower. He’s claiming me and taking control, and I’m so fucking turned on by this man.
I reach for his belt.
He growls.Growls, I tell you. “Bed. Now.”
I smirk against his lips. “You giving orders?”
Reece lifts me in one smooth motion, carries me across the room, and tosses me onto the bed.
“No.” He crawls over my body, eyes dark with heat and something dangerously close to love. “I’m making up for lost time. Full throttle. No lifting.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You’re about to learn.”
He peels off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, and lemme tell you, Reece Pritchard is a blessing. He’s all lean muscle, solid pecs and carved biceps, sculpted shoulders. All that physio makes a man a work of art.
He covers my body with his, hot skin over silk and lace. His mouth finds mine again, slower now but just as hungry. He’s learning every curve, every sigh, every soft, gasping yes I give him. Reece kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, trailing heat with every breath. He strokes the corset’s boning, his fingers teasing where my breasts mound over the edge of the satin.
“You wore this for me.” It’s not a question because he knows the answer.
