Page 41 of Power Play

“Kiss me already.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His fingers intertwine with mine, and he drags me from the ballroom. It’s been years since I’ve last been here and I don’t know my elbow from my knee. I don’t think Duke does either, but he’s not deterred in the slightest.

His gaze lands on the elevator. “This way.”

And off we go.

With a quietping, the elevator doors swing open and we cross the threshold. The floor dips under our combined weight, not that I’m worried about it. I’m too busy hastily unbuttoning Duke’s tuxedo jacket so that I can slide my hands beneath the material.

“Floor,” I gasp, reaching blindly for the illuminated buttons to my right.

Duke does it for me, smacking the top button with his index finger, which just so happens to be the rooftop level.

Then, his mouth crashes down on mine, and I am so gone. He tastes like sex, there’s no better way to describe it. Or maybe it’s that he tastes like seduction. His lips tease at mine like he’s sipping champagne, plying them open with flicks of his tongue.

Who am I to tell him no?

I give in, surrendering, with my back pressed flush against the mirrored wall and one ankle tucked around his calf muscle, needy for more. I’m not even embarrassed about the way I moan his name and rub shamelessly against him.

It’s been a while, okay?

“Jesus Christ, Charlie,” he groans against my mouth, one large hand cupping my face to better the angle of the kiss. The kiss turns even hotter, if that’s possible. It’s a tangle of lips and teeth, of captured sighs and hotter than hell moans.

“What?” I gasp. My hands go to his butt, which is firm and lovely, and Ireallywant my legs wrapped around his waist.

“You.”

It’s the second time someone has pointed me out like that tonight, but Duke’s harsh whisper speaks to something very different than how Jenny said my name earlier this evening. Jenny doesn’t want to get me into bed.

Duke’s voice, on the other hand, is raw. Hoarse. Like he wants something so badly but doesn’t know whether it’s good for him. Like he wants to tumble me onto a bed, to hell with the consequences.

“Ask me a question,” I urge him, mainly to distract him from having any second thoughts and leaving me desperate and wanting. “Whatever you want.”

His blue eyes sear me when they flick to my face. “Are you wearing any panties?”

A burst of shocked laughter escapes me. “That’swhat you want to know?”

“Right now, yes.” His hand caresses my hip, and I watch as his fingers tangle in the fabric. The seconds tick by, slow and measured, as he hikes the silk farther up my legs. “Will you tell me?”

“No.”

He pauses. “No, you won’t tell me, or no, you aren’t wearing any underwear?”

Just then, the elevator doorpingsopen, and I flash Duke a saucy smile. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

“I would,” he tells me solemnly, “I definitely would.”

I’ve never been an exhibitionist. Hell, I’ve only had sex in a bed—missionary style. But Duke and I have been going back and forth for days now, trading barbs, trading flirtatious comments, and so it’s not much of a surprise that as soon as we exit the elevator, we’re kissing again.

Right now, I don’t feel like an Ice Queen. I don’t feel “rigid.” If anything, I feel molten under his touch, as though I am seconds away from coming undone. It’s almost . . . freeing, like that moment when you get home after a long day at work and unclasp your bra. You can’t help but sigh with relief, even as you want to stretch your body to release the pops of tension tightening your limbs.

That’s how I feel right now. My hands are in his hair, scraping back the layers away from his rugged features. His hands are cupping my butt, fingers tightening just so when I nip at his bottom lip and draw out a curse from him.

At once, I want to sigh in contentment and also to link my limbs around his body and beg him to make me come.

The thought of having an orgasm restarts my brain. We’re making out on a rooftop, though the bonus is that we are hidden away in an alcove-like protrusion of a wall. The city’s glittering lights fade behind the breadth of his shoulders. The hem of my dress slides up the length of my thighs, as Duke efficiently draws it up, up, up.

More importantly:Duke Harrison is about to have sex with me on a rooftop.

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