Page 59 of Caribbean Crush

Her lips part, and our tongues touch. Tangle. I shift even closer. Wanting to be as close to her as possible.

Her hands smooth down the front of my shirt, and then she impatiently untucks it from my pants.

I feed off her impatience as I grab the hem of her dress. “Take this off.”

I step back and help her remove it and then toss it over to the couch. She’s wearing a cream-colored bra, lavender panties. I don’t know where to look. Everywhere. I want everything I see. I go to her and kiss her mouth, then her neck, her collarbone, her chest. I rain kisses all over her body as her fingers toy with my hair.

I kiss her sunshine tattoo, and then I stand back up, my hand finding its way between her thighs as I do it.

Her eyes are hooded and glazed when I meet them again.

I draw one of her nipples into my mouth, and she clutches the back of my head so tight it almost hurts. I move to her other breast and make her pant. She squeezes her eyes closed as if wanting to focus on just my mouth on her skin.

God, she’s beautiful like this, with her skin on fire, her lips slightly swollen and red, her legs trembling.

I’m inexplicably drawn to her, so much so that I can’t make it to the bedroom. Yet again, I use that couch, only this time, I lay her down on it and come up and over her. Her hair fans out around her face; her eyes are wide and innocent, looking up at me as I undress the rest of the way.

We don’t say a word, scared to break this spell. Despite the day, despite her email, I want her with a fierceness that scares me.

A niggling voice in the back of my head wonders if I really had that much of an issue with the article or if it was all just an excuse to get her here, to demand she come and see me again. I know my anger was real, but its origin is murky. Loss of control has never sat well with me, but what exactly am I losing control over?

She smiles up at me, tiptoeing her fingers up my thigh. Apparently, I’m taking too long with the condom. She’s impatient. I rip the foil open just as she reaches out to cup my hard length in her hand. She lifts up so she can take me in her mouth. I watch her lips glide over me, and I feel my heart beat like it’s a separate creature inside me, fighting to get out. Oh fuck. I cup the back of her head. My fingers tangle in her hair. I want her so badly. I want her to lick and taste me, and she does, eagerly.

I don’t have the willpower to stop her from sliding lower on the couch, angling herself so it’s easier for her to keep me in her mouth. I rise up and tip my length past her lips, and she moans around me. I start to gently thrust my hips, and she matches my rhythm, taking me deeper. Shivers race over my skin, and she continues, making it so damn good I know I won’t last. This is too perfect, too everything.

I can’t let myself have it. I abruptly break away from her and reach for the condom again. Once I have it in place, I settle over her, trying to hold my weight off her as I part her thighs, but she pulls me down, wanting to feel me pinning her. Her nails bite into my skin as she clutches my back, and I sink into her with a guttural groan.

Her name falls from my lips in a hoarse exhale.

It’s a handful of thrusts before she detonates—squeezing me so tightly I follow right after her.

Casey.

Chapter Fifteen

CASEY

“Keep your damn article.”

Phillip’s words surprise me. I didn’t realize he was awake. I’ve been lying here in his bed, tucked up against him, naked. It’s early in the morning—too early even for the sun to show its face—but I can’t seem to go back to sleep. I’ve been studying various parts of Phillip. The blanket is tucked up around his hips, but above that, I can revel in his toned chest, the dusting of hair, the muscled arm bent up beside his head, that stark profile, his angular jaw.

When he speaks, my eyes fly up to his. He looks sleepy and soft compared to his usual austere persona. He hasn’t donned his businessman mask yet.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He sweeps my hair off my bare shoulder, and it makes me shiver. “I’ll have my team approve it. It’s done. Push it forward.”

I frown as I try to keep up. Last night he was outraged by what I’d written. He called me to his suite to admonish me about it. Now, this morning, he’s magically come to terms with it? Approves it, even?

My jaw tightens reflexively. I remember what he said last night about feeling guilty the morning after we first slept together. Is this more of the same?

“Is this because of what we did last night after our argument? It’s not why I—I slept with you.” I have a hard time pushing the words out. “It’s not why I’m still lying here. You have to separate the two.”

He swallows and shakes his head. His own expression has turned contemplative and moody, especially compared to the gentleness I saw in him a moment ago. “No, this has nothing to do with last night. I don’t want to keep dragging this out. I want peace. So have your way and be done with it.”

Belated excitement has me sitting up, clutching the sheet to my chest for some semblance of modesty.

“Are you serious?”

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