Like a shot of adrenaline to his groin. He shifted in the chair, sure she could see his erection, and equally sure he didn’t mind her knowing he was rock-hard for her. “As long as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you want,” he said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips together as if she were holding back. He didn’t want her to hold back. He wanted her to let go.
“Well, Oh, God, Jack, we’re in the same field. I also help people feel better.”
She took another drink, and that seemed to be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. He was glad it was out of the way, that it had been handled without lies, and that they could move on to more interesting topics. He segued into something he’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let me make you feel better, Michelle?”
“What makes you think I feel bad?” she countered.
“Nothing. But I think I could make you feel a little bit better if, say, I did this,” he said, then brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in. It took five seconds for him to bend closer, and the air was charged, heated with possibility. Then he pressed his lips to her neck, barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made him both want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time. A feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted at the way she might taste all over. “Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, then pulled back to assess her response. The hazy look in her eyes told him all he needed. More. She wanted more.
She breathed out hard through pursed lips. “You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on the other side, “might need to feel better too.”
“I have a treatment plan for that,” he said, leaning in close to kiss her neck. He groaned faintly, heat rising in his body because she tasted so good. The scent of her was beyond arousing, and he wanted to know how she tasted everywhere. Her hair, the back of her neck, her belly, her legs, between them . . . he wanted his mouth all over her.
“What about here?” he asked, brushing a fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her hitch in a breath. That quick gasp signaled that she was losing control, and that was how he wanted her to be. Lost in him.
She nodded. “Yes, my lips could stand to feel better,” she said in a needy whisper.
“Then let me help you feel fantastic,” he said, and he took his time, wanting to savor every single second of not only kissing her, but the time before, when he was about to kiss her. He ran his fingers over a few loose strands of her hair, so soft against his skin. He watched her, because he liked to watch, and because he liked to record a woman’s reactions, and this woman had him wanting her badly. Her brown eyes were clouded with lust, and he was sure they matched the look in his. The only difference was he would lead the kiss. He would set the pace. He liked control, and he wanted to know how she felt melting against him. He traced a finger down her jaw, and her lips parted. Her breath was soft against his face, and then he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted faintly of lipstick and vodka, and it was one of his favorite taste combinations in the world. Running his tongue across the seam of her lips, he teased at first, priming her for how he wanted to kiss her properly. Hard, passionately, the kind of kiss that would make her weak in the knees, and foggy in the head, and leave her not only wanting, but desperately needing more.
A kiss that would make her wet.
She angled her body closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, and soon her hands had found their way to his hair. Their tongues tangled in a hot duet. The temperature rose, the volume shot way up, and they were practically clawing their way through the kiss, desperate for more. Teeth, lips, mouth, tongue, all furious and fevered heat as her hands gripped his hair.
He needed to have her. Had to take her. She was hot as sin, smelled like lust, and radiated sexuality. Without her even saying it directly, he knew she was a woman who had no reservations about self-love. She’d pretty much admitted she had a bit of a porn habit, and he could see her alone in her bed, eyes fixed on filthy images online, spread out on a white comforter with her legs spread and her fingers wrapped around a red vibrator, thrusting in and out, bringing herself there.
Tonight, she didn’t need to go it solo.
He broke the kiss, and traveled to her ear, whispering hotly, “If you were to go home right now, would you touch yourself?”
“Obviously.”
“Why is it obvious?”
“Because I’m turned on as fuck, and it would be a fantastic orgasm.”
“Would you think of me as you played with yourself?” he asked, then licked the shell of her ear. She shivered against him.
“You’re giving me pretty good fodder, so I’d have to say that’d be a yes.”
“What would you imagine?” he asked, so fucking eager to know what she wanted. He shifted back, looking at her gorgeous face, her brown eyes hazy with lust. He was curious if she’d say hands, lips, tongue, or cock. Dying to know what she wanted next if she were to have her way.
She shot him a stare, her eyes hooking into his. Something dark and naughty passed over her gaze.
“I would fantasize about you finishing what you just started.”
His breath caught in his chest, and his heart stopped for a moment. The air around them was heavy, expectant, and suddenly it felt as if all the sound in the room had both stopped and been sharpened. Everything collided into this—the heavy pulsing sound of the music, the clink of glasses, the splash of liquor being poured, and then this—her breath, her chest rising and falling, and the heated look in her eyes that spelled unabashed lust.
He was going to fuck her good tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stop, Don’t Stop
Her reflection in the brass doors of the elevator would give her away. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair was slipping from its clip, and the collar of her blouse already needed readjusting. It was a look she hadn’t worn in years, but it was one she found she liked on herself. The look of a woman about to have hot, dirty sex with a man she barely knew. Michelle Milo was getting some action tonight, and it wasn’t the battery-operated kind.
A couple walked behind her. A man with slick black hair had his arm draped around a young blonde. They were wrapped up in each other, but seemed to check out Michelle before they turned the corner.
She stood alone outside the elevators, waiting for Jack to return from the front desk where he was getting a room, and she practically wanted to pump her first, maybe even high-five her own reflection.