Page 25 of Wrong Number

I felt it.

I’d started to feel more than a crush a long time ago, but I was scared.

“You’re not married… I mean anymore?”

“No. Fuck, no. I’ve been divorced for seven years.” I nodded as my head spun. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was even better looking up close like this.

“You’re mine?” I asked stupidly with so much hope inside of me I was afraid I was going to float right off his lap.

“All yours. Only yours. Moment you’re ready, I’m gonna change your last name and keep you for always.”

“That’s crazy.” I giggled nervously, but the smolder in his gaze never wavered.

“It’s the truth,” he stated, and I could see the determination in his stare.

“Well…” I stared into his beautiful eyes. “Good thing I like the sound of that.” I giggled some more, but it didn’t last long.

When his lips touched mine, it felt like my entire body caught fire.

Warming me from the inside out. The kiss was soft at first, a barely-there touch, but with every drag of his lips along mine, it got hotter, heavier. Hungrier. Before I knew it, I was a squirming mess on top of him. I felt empty as I rubbed against the long, hard bulge behind his pants and needed so much more. I was close to making myself come, but I couldn’t get there.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I huffed impatiently against his mouth. The rough exhale of his breath tickled my lips.

“You’re telling me,” he rasped. “But I can’t get myself to lift you off me. Not yet.”

“Nix,” I whined and didn’t miss the way his lips quirked up and his eyes warmed like he thought I was cute.

“Keep rubbing that tight little pussy against me,” he panted. My hips did his bidding. “Need to watch you come,” he grunted.

“Oh god!” My fingertips dug into the muscles of his shoulders while I rocked back and forth on him. It was almost embarrassing how wet I was. If I looked between us, I was pretty sure my shorts would look like I’d had an accident. I managed not to shut my eyes and watch him watch me. Through a hooded gaze, I stared at him, and his never wavered.

There was something erotic, intimate about watching your partner in the heat of the moment. Maybe it was because of how well we got to know one another that I felt comfortable, easy around him like that, despite having just officially met. Nix’ hands dropped to my lower back and pressed me against him as he bucked upward.

“Find it,” he strained.

“I can’t. I need…” I was close but not close enough. The pressure was magnificent but not doing the trick.

“Tell me. Use your words, kitten,” Nixon demanded, and it left me feeling bolder. Braver.

“I need more. It’s not enough.”

“You need more?” I was about to nod when he flipped us over, laid me on my back, and I gasped. “Yeah, you fucking do. Good girl telling your man what you need. Fuck.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What do you want, Vivi? My mouth? Hands?”

“All of it,” I whined.

“Greedy, dirty girl.” He winked and dropped to his knees before pulling me to the edge of the bed.

“Nix!”

“Fucking love how you say my name.” Before I could think of something to say, his hands were pulling down my biker shorts along with my panties. “Fucking loved these,” he murmured. I lifted myself up on my elbows.

“What?”

“Those panties.” It should have scared me, at the very least weirded me out he’d been inside my apartment, gone through my drawers, and had touched my delicates, but maybe we weren’t as different as he thought?

Maybe I had a dark side that matched his perfectly, because knowing it only made my sex clench harder.

“Look at you, kitten. So fucking wet and dewy.” His tongue ran across his straight teeth.

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