Page 28 of Had To Be You

“Tonight, I’m yours,” she whispers, then leans in to kiss me. “You have me all to yourself. Anywhere you want me.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“My dining table again? Or the counter?” I kiss her again, and she lets out a desperate little moan.

“How about up against the wall?” she suggests, smiling. And I’m a goner because fuck, what guy wouldn’t die to hear those words? A spark shoots right through me. I need to get her back to my house as fast as possible.

And that’s exactly what I do.

Fifteen minutes later, in Formula One record speed, I have her in my living room. My hands are in her hair. Her mouth is on mine. Her hands stroking and scratching my arms and my back over the fabric of my shirt.

We barely made it through the front door, flicking on only one light in the living room, when our bodies collided together knowing just how good it was going to be. The tension crackling between us all night at dinner had been like a live wire.

“This doesn’t happen, Ellie,” I tell her honestly, because what can it hurt?

“What doesn’t happen?”

“I never feel this out of control. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Same, Liam,” she says, fisting the collar of my dress shirt. I want her now like I’ve never wanted anyone else. This is not a familiar feeling. I’ve passed the time with other women, never catching feelings. I’ve always been able to compartmentalize sex and emotion.

Until now.

“This dress, Ellie. God, this dress.” The need to feel her is so intense. “You fucking kill me in this dress, but I need you out of it. Now.”

She takes two small steps away from me and begins to slowly lower the straps of her dress down over her slim shoulders. She slowly turns around, never breaking eye contact, displaying her back to me, watching me over her shoulder.

I’m about to combust. I feel like a cannon ready to fire. She’s teasing me, watching me from under her long, dark lashes. She’s putting on a show and I’ll happily watch it all night long.

“Help me with the zipper?”

“Is that even a question?” In one stride, my fingers find the zipper, slowly drawing it down the center of her back to her tailbone. She shivers.

“Fuck, Ellie. The purple bra.”

She turns to face me, then presses her palm flat to my chest with challenge in her eyes. “Let me,” she says, forcing me two strides backwards. My eyes follow the fabric of her dress as she strips it from her body. Standing in front of me, she lets the dress fall to the floor leaving her in the purple lace bra she tormented me with last night. Thank fuck she never mentioned the matching purple lace panties in our text exchange, or I would have driven to the restaurant and taken her back home with me.

She bends to remove her heels, but I stop her. “Leave them on, Ellie. Leave the heels where they are.” She stops, straightening to her full height, kicking her dress to the side. I can’t hold back a second longer. I close the distance between us, reaching one hand to her shoulder, hooking my finger through the purple bra strap.

“Never in my life have I ever seen anything hotter. I need you, Ellie. So bad,” I say. She looks up at me and her eyes match mine, full of want and need.

My hands find their way to the curve of her hip, gripping her hard, yanking her into me. I press her body against my rock-hard erection, wanting her to feel it. I want her to know what just the sight of her does to me. She fists my hair, panting. Her shallow breath tickles my neck, lighting every nerve ending in my body on fire. Her pelvis rocks into the outline of my length, searching for friction. Grabbing her ass, I give her what she wants, rocking into her faster.

We stumble into the bedroom. Somehow I manage to flick on the light. I want to see every bit of her body, laid out naked for me for the first time.

Standing at the foot of my bed, I palm her face in my hands and kiss her long and slow. She’s still in nothing but the purple lace bra and panties and her heels, making the difference in height between us less than usual. I take advantage, kissing her long and slow while her hands drift down my rib cage. Freeing my dress shirt from my pants, her fingers slip between the fabric and my skin, finding the grid of my abs and dragging her hands across them. Her warm hands move lower, rubbing the outline of my dick through my pants. I growl into her hair, feeling it thicken against my zipper.

My hands get busy working on the buttons of my shirt, working the top three open. Impatient with the rest of the tiny round discs, I grab the hem of my shirt and tug it over my head, then unfasten my belt buckle, pop the snap and unzip my suit pants in three seconds flat. I kick them to the floor. I can’t get to her fast enough. “I want you naked and in my bed.”

I hook my finger under the satin ribbon strap of her bra. “I love you in this set, Ellie, but I want to see what’s under it more.”

A quiet sigh slips from her mouth. “I want you to take them off of me.”

“Happy to.” I’m like a kid on Christmas morning. This feels better than taking that first sip of a 60-year-old bottle of scotch. Better than a puff of the finest Arturo Fuente cigar. I do what I’m told, reaching around her, unhooking the clasp, stripping it from her torso. Next I shimmy her lace thong to the floor, removing her heels while I’m perched at her feet, kissing my way back up her body like a treasure map.

“You are perfect, Ellie,” I murmur into her calf. “Every,” I kiss her there. “Single,” I kiss the inside of her knee. “Inch,” I taste her smooth skin of her thigh. “Of you,” I say, dragging my tongue up the silky skin of her leg. “I want to be inside of you.”

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