Page 47 of Hot and Bothered
Evan put his hands on my hips and drew me closer. His warm fingers were like a brand searing into my skin, even through the silk.
“You’ve definitely put on a show.” He lowered his head to mine, closing the distance between us. “And you’ve definitely got my attention.”
“I noticed,” I told him. “I remember the way you looked at me back at the photoshoot.”
“And how did I look at you?” he asked.
I stood on my tiptoes until his lips were a hairsbreadth away.
“Like you wanted to devour me then and there,” I whispered against his mouth.
His eyes flashed with a deep, predatory hunger.
“If we’d been alone, I just might have,” he said.
“We’re alone now,” I pointed out slyly.
His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into flesh. The stiffness behind his jeans zipper was now rock hard and poking into my stomach. My insides throbbed sweetly as I imagined what he might look like naked, how he might feel in my hands and against my skin.
“So, about that popcorn…?” I teased breathlessly.
“Fuck the popcorn,” he growled.
He crushed his lips to mine. The kiss was so fervent, so carnal, it threatened to take my breath away. Our previous kisses had been tepid and bland compared to this scorching hot passion.
Eventually I had to pull away, gasping a lungful of air. Evan took the opportunity to latch onto my neck with his teeth, leaving quick bites all along my collarbone and shoulder. I shivered at the possessive act, wondering if I’d have red blotches on my skin the next day. That wild, animalistic part of me hoped I would. I wanted to see the signs that Evan had marked me as his.
We fell onto the bed, hands roaming under clothes and over skin. Evan soon removed his shirt and tossed it to the floor. I ran my fingers along his firm stomach, tracing that delicious V of his lower abdomen.
He tugged at the hem of the negligee.
“Can I?” he asked.
I was only wearing panties underneath. If he removed the skimpy article of clothing, I’d be practically naked in front of him for the first time.
Instead of answering his question, I took the initiative and quickly tossed the entire thing off and over my head, throwing it to land on the floor next to his shirt.
He sucked in a quick breath, his eyes growing dark, his expression greedy as he took in every inch of my bare skin.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured quietly, as if to himself. Then he cupped my cheeks and looked deeply into my eyes. “Do you have any idea how crazy you drove me with that fucking nightgown?”
“It’s called a negligee,” I said.
“It should be called goddamn illegal,” he said. “After that photoshoot, I was walking around with a hard-on for an hour.”
“And I see you’re still experiencing that problem.”
I cupped him over his jeans. His whole body jerked as I felt his length pulse beneath the thick fabric.
He captured my lips again as he lowered me down onto the mattress. I hooked a leg around his hip and clung to him as he clutched me close. We grinded and writhed against one another, our bodies pressed together so tightly there was not an atom of space between us.
The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him — all of it combined to overwhelm my senses, sending my head spinning and my body buzzing. The ache between my thighs rose to a fever pitch and my panties were quickly becoming damp.
I bucked my hips against his to get some more friction, wanting to feel that scratch of denim against my core, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. I went for the buckle on his jeans, eager to be rid of that barrier.
His hands came down on mine, slowing them, and I worried he was going to do the same as last time. That he was going to keep his clothes on and tell me not to worry about him.
“I want these off,” I demanded as I tugged on his belt. “Boxers, too,” I added.
