Page 26 of Crave Me

“A start?” My breath is ragged and my heart is battering my ribcage. I want more. But that can’t be what she said, because women like Wren—gorgeous, intelligent, sexy women like her don’t exist. Not in my reality.

She pulls away, her eyes glazing with raw desire. She lifts my coat from the rail, walking backward and up the stairs, her focus trained on mine.

“Come on,” she says, smiling with enough sin to set me ablaze.

She’s almost to the landing and I’m merely standing there, dumbstruck. This isn’t real. It’s a miscommunication of words, thoughts, desires—

“Evan?” she calls, her grin widening. “Are you trying to tell me I should sleep alone?”

I don’t walk up the stairs. I run.

Two at time, that’s how many steps I take, my body colliding against hers. This kiss is frantic and desperate, but also teasing and lustful. I morph into a horny teenager, grinding against her when she hooks her leg around my back.

The quick surge of lust between us isn’t one I’m familiar with. Her head lolls back, sliding against the wall, her eyes scrunching tight as she swivels her hips with each measured movement of my groin.

“This feels so good,” she mutters. I start to agree, but she cuts me off with, “Let’s get naked.”

My heart is no longer pounding. It’s brutalizing my chest.

She bites down on my bottom lip, tugging it before staggering away and dragging me into her room.

She slams the door shut and locks it, rushing back into my embrace. My hands explore her, smoothing around her curves as we resume our kiss. They disappear beneath her skirt, stopping over the miniscule strip of silk covering her ass.

I want to strip her bare, and I do, starting with her dress despite my desire to tear her panties off in one bite. I hold back, lowering her zipper slowly as I watch her, giving her every opportunity to stop me.

I want to be sure this is what she wants. That I’m who she wants.

The dress falls in a crumpled mess at her feet, leaving her in her sexy, thigh high boots, panties I could stuff into a tin of mints, and a black see-through bra barely able to contain her puncturing nipples.

“You like what you see?”

I yank her forward, the yearning in her husky voice demanding I ravage her breasts.

She whimpers, aroused when my teeth clamp through the delicate mesh of her bra and graze over her nipples.

She pulls away enough to reach into her bedside drawer and remove a condom, then yanks me free of my belt. I reach around her to unhook her bra, pausing when fear sparks across her stare. My hands leave her back to cup her face. “What is it?” I ask, sweeping my thumb across her bottom lip.

She freezes, but then abruptly looks away and resumes her movements, tugging down my zipper. “Wren . . . I’m not going to hurt you. We can stop if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, appearing to fight the doubt that lingers.

I lift her face, kissing her in delicate passes, taking my time until that fire between us builds.

Our skin heats, boiling my blood with ardor, but I don’t push her. “Are you sure?” I ask between flicks from my tongue, careful to avoid touching her intimate areas.

“Yes,” she tells me. Her head falls briefly to my shoulder. “Evan, I swear, it’ll kill me if I have to stop touching you.”

She falls to her knees, tugging my pants down with her, her hand disappearing into my briefs to grip my growing erection. She starts at the base, travelling up my lengthening staff in a twisting motion. I mumble a curse, my muscles tensing with each pass.

She freezes in place after another few strokes, her eyes widening as I thicken and stretch several more inches. She gasps with apparent shock. I’m almost embarrassed. Almost. She knows I have what it takes to please her. It’s up to her to decide whether to let me.

As much as I desire her, I’ll walk away if she’s not ready.

She slides the condom in place, lifting her chin and meeting my face when she reaches the base. Any semblance of doubt is long past. All that remains is an impish gaze and an unspoken promise to fulfill my deepest fantasies.

I pull off my sweater and toss it aside, not wanting to miss a single moment. “I’ll . . . I’ll respect you in the morning,” I say like an imbecile.

A wide smile claims her features. “Good,” she says. “But it’s not morning yet.”

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