If anything, it helps blast through the last of our guardrails.
In this white, hushed world, we’re the only people on earth. There’s no one to stare or judge or whisper secrets to HELLO! Magazine. It’s just Emily and me and a hunger—a freedom—unlike anything I’ve felt in ages.
She tastes like mulled wine, salt from our pretzel snack, and a sweet surprise I wasn’t expecting on this cold winter’s night. She’s a fucking delight, and I can’t seem to stop kissing her.
Not even long enough to watch where I’m going, apparently…
I grunt, cursing as the back of my head knocks against something cold and metallic.
“Watch out for the lamppost,” she mumbles against my lips.
“Thanks,” I murmur back. “You delivered that warning in the nick of time.”
I spin us around, pressing her against the post, swallowing her laugh with another kiss that’s hot enough to make my wool coat feel like overkill. We proceed to claw at each other, tonguesstroking deep as Emily wraps a leg around my hips, and I grab eager handfuls of her fantastic ass.
I haven’t been this desperate to get a woman alone in…
Christ, I can’t even remember, and it’s been an eternity since I’ve had such authentic, unguarded fun.
As a member of the peerage, one never fully drops one’s guard in the city. Hell, these days, it’s not entirely safe in the country, either. Since my father passed, and Edward and I each moved one step closer to the throne, it feels like there’s a paparazzo hiding behind every mailbox and teapot.
The Honorable Oliver David Dawson Featherswallow is not a normal man. He has to keep his impulsive side on a tight leash so as not to mortify his mother, reflect poorly on the aristocracy, or draw the disapproving eye of the crown. The spare to the Viscount isn’t allowed to kiss women in the snow like a lovesick uni student.
But Olly is.
Fuck, I love being Olly.
Just Olly.
Especially with Emily…
We kiss-stumble-laugh our way across the street, tripping over her suitcase and our own feet, but having a damned good time doing it. When we finally reach the entrance to the lofts, I smash my key fob against the sensor without coming up for air.
We trip again on our way across the lobby, and Emily starts giggling, that wicked, mischievous giggle that’s already one of my favorites. While we wait for the lift, I nibble her earlobe, she nips at my neck, and suddenly things aren’t nearly as funny.
I want her.
Desperately.
I’m already hard, my erection straining the front of my suit pants.
I’m in trouble with this woman. Deep trouble, and getting deeper with every passing minute. Saying goodbye tomorrow morning is going to be torture.
Which is why I’m not going to think about tomorrow.
All I’m going to think about is her lips and her curves and the way her tongue spars perfectly with mine.
The lift ride is torture and bliss. I press her against the wall, and she presses against my cock, making me groan as she grinds closer.
“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” I murmur.
“And I love feeling how much you want me,” she whispers back.
“I want you a rather alarming amount, Darling,” I confess, fingers digging into her hips. “I can’t wait to make you come, Red. Can’t wait to hear the loud, American sounds you’re going to make.”
She laughs again, but it’s a breathier sound this time, and soon becomes a moan as I cup her breast through her shirt. She’s the perfect, overflowing handful, and getting her nipples in my mouth is quickly becoming my new mission in life.
Before I can confess that or any of my other wicked thoughts, the elevator door opens and we kiss our way down the hall.
