Page 32 of The Hookup
“Just excited?” he asked, letting his hand drop lower, before cupping her breast over her beaded top.
She shuddered in response, her eyes suddenly dark. Bedroom-eyes. She parted her lips, looking up at him, and he couldn’t help himself. Dipping his head, he sealed her lips with his, his tongue sweeping into her sweet mouth, tasting, feeling, claiming. She clung to him, kissing him back, her fervor unleashing. Their dueling tongues playing out the frustration that had been kept in check for so long.
His hand lowered, tried to find an opening at the waist so that he could slid his hand under her top, but it was too tight for him to gain access. He needed to touch her; needed to feel her bare skin against his hands.
“You move fast,” she gasped between breaths, while he fumbled with the halter neck tie at the base of her neck.
“I can go slow if you want,” he replied, his fingers stilling as pressed his hardness against her.
“I wasn’t complaining.”
He kissed her again, loving the feel of her full lips against his, loving the feel of her full curves against him. But he still couldn’t untie the damned bow. “Did you double knot this?” he asked, his hunger for her making his body pulsate.
“I didn’t want it to come undone in the club.” She lifted her hands, but he spun her around, eager to do it himself.
His eyes dropped to her bare back, and he pushed her hair to one side before dropping a smattering of kisses all over her bare skin. “You are unbelievably sexy,” he bit out, desperate to untie the bow and have her naked.
His fingers clutched at the double-knot and unraveled it. He tugged her top down, his hands skittering over her stomach, then moving up to cup her bare breasts.
Fuck.
She was luscious, and soft, and beautiful. His hands held her firm, pebbled breasts, and his boner turned to steel. He kissed her neck as if he would never get another chance to again, and rolled her nipples between his fingers and thumbs; knowing that they’d moved on from mere acquaintances to something more, into the realm of dark and dirty.
He couldn’t breathe, not now, with his hands and lips all over her, zapping the oxygen from his body. She was sheer, overwhelming sexiness, and he toyed with her, taking pleasure and giving pleasure back. The silence between them was broken only by the fast rise and fall of her chest and her throaty moans; the kinds of moans that would soon lead to better things. He pressed against her again, desperation driving him. “I need to fuck you, Kay. Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” she begged.
He wanted her no matter the connection to the Stone brothers. For once, business and pleasurewouldmix because, goddamnit, this woman knew exactly what she wanted, and he had every intention of giving it to her.
But, even in the thick haze of arousal, his brain still functioned. “I don’t do romance, Kay, or should I call you Good-time-Kay?”
He felt her flinch, and knew he’d messed up.
“You jerk,” she answered back, her voice quaking with indignation.
His hands stilled on her breasts. He hadn’t been thinking properly. How could he, at a time like this? “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean that.”
She straightened her back, and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him to go to hell. He dropped another kiss on her shoulder, and another, and another, and slowly, his fingers pinched her nipples gently.
“Don’t ever call me that again.”
“If you promise never to call me a mixologist again.”
She snorted. “Deal.”
But he was determined she understood exactly what this was. “I’m not looking for romance, Kay,” he murmured, sliding his hands down to her waist, as his lips pressed against her shoulder.
“And I’ve already told you,” she murmured, shakily. “I don’t have time for romance, so we don’t have a problem, do we?”
“What do you want?”
“Whatever you’re willing to give.”
She could say this to him now, in this moment, when she was topless and his hands were all over her? She seemed to have temperament of a man when it came to love and sex, and it was perfectly fine with him because the last thing he needed was a whingy, whiny woman looking for love.
He turned her around, his eyes falling to her breasts, sending a signal straight to his manhood. He swallowed, resting his hand against the small of her back, pulling her towards him. A flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes.
“I want no baggage, no headache, no commitment,” he told her.
