Page 135 of One Wrong Move

“Yes,” I whisper. “You promised to forget what you saw.”

He bends his head, and I rise on my tiptoes, needing his lips. But he skirts past them. Trails his mouth toward my ear instead. “I’ve broken that promise every day since.”

I sway against him, craving more… and then, I reel back as cold liquid splashes over the skin of my chest. It drips into my cleavage, beneath my silk dress shirt.

I forgot the glass of champagne in my hand.

“Shoot,” I murmur.

Nate is staring at my chest, like the droplets sliding over my skin are the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Here,” he says and takes the now-empty flute from me. He sets it aside along with his own, then finds a button on my blouse.

He undoes it, and then another, widens the gap between the two pieces of fabric… and leans to kiss my neck. My collarbone. The swells of my breasts. His warm lips chase away the chills the cold champagne had elicited.

“Oh,” I breathe again, but it’s softer now. Nate kisses the exposed valley down my sternum, right at the edge of the silk… held together by only one measly button now.

He unfastens that, too.

Tepid hands spread the fabric aside.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You were telling the truth. No bra.”

“It wouldn’t have worked with the look,” I whisper.

His hands are tight around my hips, his eyes roaming my naked flesh. My suddenly aching tits and my nipples. They hardened in response to the cold liquid.

“So beautiful,” he rasps and leans down, kissing one of my breasts. His tongue is hot against my skin, and I slide a hand into his hair. He’s licking the champagne off me. Kissing it away.

His mouth closes around my right nipple, and when he sucks hard, my knees threaten to give out. Oh. My fingers tighten around the silky strands of his hair.

I’m barely hanging on, but then he uses his teeth to lightly bite… and I…

I didn’t know it could feel like that. Had always loved having my breasts played with, but no one had ever used their teeth.

Nate groans, his mouth feathering over my chest to the other nipple. The first isn’t left alone, though, and his hand closes over my breast. He can fit all of it neatly in his palm.

“Harper,” he whispers, his lips capturing my nipple.

He’s already sinking. I buckle under a myriad of sensations, and we sail gracefully to our knees on the plush hotel carpet. Falling back, I pull him over me, and his mouth never stops working—kissing, nibbling, and then moving down my ribcage.

He pulls up my skirt in one swift movement and spreads my thighs with the next. I barely have time to catch my breath before I lose it again.

His mouth is on my clit.

The ceiling above us is beautiful. Carefully stuccoed and adorned. Gilded. There’s a chandelier by the entryway, and all of it blurs in my vision.

He is so good at this.

He learned so quickly what I like, and he does just that, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my pussy. Finding my clit and teasing it with his tongue, over and over again, with a steady pressure that sends my arousal sky-high.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

It’s everything.

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