He holds my face between his palms and angles his head, fitting my lips softly to his as he draws my tongue into his mouth, sucking strongly on me.
I moan and grip his shoulders with my nails, locking him to me. “Why won’t you take me, Remington?”
He groans and pulls me closer. “Because I want you too much.”
His tongue dips hard against mine, and sensations spark up in my nerve endings as he leans his body into mine, his skin damp and hot, the towel falling to my waist and my br**sts getting flattened by his diaphragm.
I gasp into his mouth as he pulls me closer and continues his sensual assault with his lips.
“But I want you so much, and I’m protected,” I pleadingly cajole. “I know you’re clean. You get tested all the time and I…” I shudder at the feel of his chest muscles against the sensitive tips of ni**les, hard and bulged. My h*ps tilt up by pure instinct, and I’m just a female. Seeking my male. His hardness. His touch. I can’t breathe, can’t think, want him want him want him.
An orgasm is not what I want and I know it. What I want, need, is so much more than that. It’s the connection. The exhilarating contact with this human being, a being that compels me like no other. I miss his touch, his kiss. I don’t care if he gives me just a little kernel of what he can give; I’m just starving to be fed, and my body has never been this hungry.
“I want you in my bed again. I want to kiss you, hold you,” he groans.
“I can’t do this anymore, please just make love with me…” I beg.
Pressing into him as he hungrily takes my mouth, I shift my body until one of his legs is wedged between my thighs.
He nibbles and bites my lips, his hands fisting my hair. I’m so desperate I rake my nails down his arms as I rub my sex against his hard thigh. Sensations shoot off. I whimper, feeling the coiled tension in his shoulders, the smooth velvet of his chest as he devours me, and at the first scrape of my nubbin against the rock-hard quad muscle of his thigh, I explode.
Shuddering uncontrollably, I feel him stiffen in surprise of my startlingly powerful convulsions. His hands quickly spread on my back and flatten me to him as he lifts his leg higher between my thighs and grinds his muscle into my clit, his ravenous mouth taking all my moans inside him.
When I’m done, he brushes my hair back and looks positively intimate. His voice. Intimate. Mild with tenderness. “Did that feel even half as good as it looked?” His fingers trail along my cheek in a whisper touch, and there is still not enough air in my lungs to scream at him.
I Hate. Him.
I feel like I just gave him everything, and got nothing back, even though I was the one who was pleasured. Angrily securing the towel around myself, I glance around the room, at anything but his odious beautiful sexy face.
“I assure you that’s not happening again,” I whisper in my complete and total embarrassment.
He kisses my ear, his voice husky. “I’m going to make sure that it does.”
“Don’t count on it. If I wanted to have an orgasm all alone I could have taken care of myself without giving anyone a show.” With the towel clutched to my chest, I sit up and ask, “Can I borrow a damn shirt?”
Slowly, his lips curl into a dimpled, kind of cocky smile that makes me suspect he likes the idea of me wearing his man stuff, and he heads into his closet while I wait for him to come back, feeling all kinds of slutty and wanton.
His beautiful torso is still a little damp, and I can’t stop admiring the way the towel hugs his narrow hips. His body is perfection. His butt defies gravity, it is so perfectly tight, round and muscular. Every time I see it in any kind of clothes, I drool about a small ocean.
I want to see him na**d and touch him, and once again tonight, I loathe that I won’t be able to sleep from the torment of wanting to feel him inside me. Can I even stay here to sleep? Wanting what he’s not ready to give me?
No, I’m not going to sleep with him tonight, only to kiss like teenagers, making out in first base and second and third, without going for it all…
No.
Hell no.
I want him to make love to me. I. Need. Him to. Damn him. I hate that he can control himself and hold back while I am completely undone for him.
He hands me a black t-shirt I’d seen him wearing before, in our very first flight to Atlanta. “This okay?” he asks, blue eyes all-knowing and deep.
I slip it on, feeling the fabric slide along my skin and feeling it awaken tingles all over my body. He remains standing at the foot of the bed, and his eyes probe into me. They’re intimate eyes, eyes that have seen me na**d and make my pu**y ache so deep I feel like squirming. “Come eat something with me,” he says, and I follow him out into the suite, not one whit relaxed even after the amazing orgasm he gave me.
“Let’s see what Diane left you,” I tell him as we study the contents in the hot drawer of the presidential suite kitchen. He uncovers the plate and I shoot him a smile. “Eggs. They must’ve been on sale tonight.”
Those dimples again, boyish and sexy as he glances at my mouth and stays there. I don’t even think he realizes he’s staring so hotly at me. In silence, he extracts two forks from a drawer and comes over. “Come share.”
“Oh no. No more eggs for me tonight. You enjoy.”
He sets the forks down and follows me to the door, grabbing my wrist to halt me. “Stay.”
The abrupt request shoots a ripple of heat through me, but it’s the intensity in his blue eyes that nearly rent me open.
“I’ll stay,” I say, my voice smooth but firm, “when you make love to me.”