Page 23 of Baby One Last Time
“How about a snack?” His voice startled me.
I looked up to see him in the kitchen, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark blue tee shirt. Well, damn, he had covered up the best view in the city. Then again, it’s true what they say about a sexy man in gray sweatpants, and it was obvious, even from this distance, that his interest in me hadn’t abated.
“I have popcorn,” he said. “Not chocolate-covered, but... There’s other stuff, too.”
As he rummaged through a cupboard, I stalked toward him, glass in hand. I took another mouthful of Macallan and moaned as it slid down my throat. That got his attention. And now that I had it, I licked my lips, slowly, rubbing off every stray drop of whiskey with my tongue.
“I’m other stuff,” I said. “You used to think I was pretty tasty.”
Derek leaned against the island that separated us, his palms flat on the black granite. I turned away and surveilled his space, allowing the images my words had evoked to run through his mind and boil his blood. But even when I stopped looking at him, there was no ignoring the vibrations of need rolling off our bodies and bouncing off the walls.
I noticed a shark-tooth necklace dangling from the key rack on the kitchenette wall. “Hmm. I remember this.” I slipped one finger into the silver chain and pulled it off the peg. “Why do you take it with you everywhere?” It was obviously important and personal to him. I was surprised I’d never asked him about it before.
The raging heat around us dropped a degree or two, and so did his guard.
“It was a gift from my brother when we were kids,” he said. “The Christmas after his accident.”
The accident had been on the snowboarding slopes, when a teenaged Derek was supposed to keep an eye on his younger brother but got distracted by a pretty college girl. On the first night we’d met, Derek had told me how he still blamed himself for that, and in return, I’d shared my story about nearly burning down an apartment house trying to surprise my mom with dinner when I was ten. Since then, he’d told me more about his brother, whom he’d brought in as his partner in Bespoke and who was the only person outside HEAT authorized to know the truth about Derek’s life. He’d also told me about his parents, who lived in Hawaii. But he’d never taken me to meet any of them. Then again, I’d never hustled him off to meet my mom or Aunt Anita.
“How is Chase?” I asked.
A genuine smile broke through his mask. “Same as always. Keeping my cover intact, making the company successful, breaking hearts the length and breadth of Atlanta.”
I nodded my head in the direction of the spreadsheets. “Looks like you’re staying up on the company, at least.”
“I do what I can to help him, but Bespoke will need a real CEO someday soon.” The smile faded a bit. “I haven’t seen him in person for a while.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He took a long, slow pull of Macallan. I would have killed to run my tongue down his throat, tracing the path as he swallowed it. “We’ll get a reunion soon.”
I chose to think his words weren’t just about his brother. I stepped beside him and slid the chain over his head. His muscles rippled as cold metal brushed his skin. He’d had it on once after a mission, when we’d been jacked up on adrenaline and had stripped each other nearly naked before we’d even made it inside his hotel room. I still remembered the white shark’s tooth against all that naked man skin and chest hair.
I’d meant to keep my distance, play it cool, at least for another couple of minutes. Instead, I ran my hands up his chest and tugged at his tee shirt until he lifted his arms to accommodate me. I pulled the shirt off him. The heat in the room jacked right back up, this time going ten degrees hotter.
He closed his eyes as I rubbed his chest and kissed around the edges of the shark’s tooth. “Cynth,” he whispered, “we shouldn’t. You know we shouldn’t.”
“I’ve heard ‘can’t’.” I ran my tongue over one of his nipples and he groaned. “I’ve heard ‘shouldn’t’.” Tongue over the other nipple. Deep moan. “But I have yet to hear the one word that will stop me.” I slid my hand into the waistband of his sweatpants, dying to see and touch and taste all the parts of him still hidden from me. “Just tell me no, Derek.”
I tugged at the drawstring and pushed the sweats down over his legs until he stepped out of them. No underwear. Oh, good boy. He was so hard, it looked painful. To ease his suffering—well, okay, to increase it—I wrapped my hand around his shaft and stroked. “Tell me no and I’ll stop.”
He shook his head.
“You have to say the word.”
He grabbed my hips and hoisted me onto the island. “I’m not going to say it, and you damn well know it.”
He claimed my lips in a deep, desperate kiss while he pulled off my shorts and dropped them on top of his clothes. I had come underwear-free as well, and he stepped out of my grasp to reposition himself so his tip pressed into my wetness.
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmured as he lifted off my tee shirt. He pulled one of my nipples into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. Every cell in my body shifted into high alert and begged him to touch me everywhere. “You’re so ready for me.” He took a half-step back and stared at me with hooded eyes, turning the tables on me. “Butyouhave to say it.”
As much as I loved playing games with him, this wasn’t the time for it. I reached for him, desperate, needing him inside me more than I’d ever needed anything from any man. He stayed just out of my grasp.
“Say what?” I licked my lips, arched my back, opened my legs wider to him, enticing him to come back to me. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to hear.”
He dropped to a crouch and held my knees far apart, then licked and sucked my clit. I was so close. Just one stroke of his tongue or fingers or—please, please, please—his dick, and I’d be a goner. “Tell me yes,” he whispered against my thigh.
“Yes,” I groaned out, then thrust toward him, ready for his skillful mouth and my pent-up release.
