Page 74 of Some Like It Hott

My mouth is hanging open again, my brain frozen on the sight.

“Lucibello’s,” he confirms.

He pulls the string free, opens the box, and shows me the contents. Flaky tube-shaped pastry, thick custard cream—I’m flooded with memories of sitting in my sister’s dorm room, licking my fingers clean, and my mouth waters.

“You got me…?”

I get up, take the box out of his hands, set it aside, and smother him in a bear hug. He laughs and kisses me.

“You got me Lucibello’s. Oh my God, Pres, are you trying to destroy me? What am I supposed to do when you leave? You’ve ruined me for other men.”

“Good,” he says. His eyes are dark and serious on mine. “That was my plan.”

“But—”

He holds me tighter. “If I could get Carmine’s and Lucibello’s here, don’t you think I could get myself here any time I wanted?”

It takes me a minute to understand what he’s saying. Asking. “You mean—long distance?”

His gaze probes mine. “If you’re willing to give it a shot.”

“Yeah,” I say, breathless, not giving myself time to think about it, just—wanting what he’s offering. “Yeah.”

“I couldn’t be here all the time, but look how much I was able to do remotely, right? And no crises that called me back into the office or anything.”

“And I could fly sometimes, too. You could send the private jet for me.”

His eyes crinkle with laughter. “I could.”

We stare at each other, and I’m so full of him, of what I feel for him that I don’t know how to put it into words. I’m going to need another way to show him.

And maybe he can see because he smiles down at me. “Do you—um—” His smile gets deeper. “Want to take a little break before dessert and—mmm,” he says, as I answer with my mouth on his, pulling him toward the bed.

38

Preston

All we do for a long time is kiss. Her mouth, soft and open and yielding, on mine. It’s kissing for kissing’s sake, slow and undemanding. Languid. And it sets me on fire, my whole mouth tingling, my skin buzzing with sensation, every nerve ending gathering itself into the thick, angry demand of my cock. I need her now, and I could do this forever, and I can’t decide which would be better.

So I take another route. I kiss along her jaw to her ear and explore the curves of the delicate shell; I huff warm breath against her until she arches and moans, her hands grabbing my clothes. I trail down her neck and throat, then pause to take her shirt off. Her bra. I kneel over her and take her in, because she’s beautiful. Perfect. Round and full, nipples tipped with a dark rose and already peaked for me. I kiss across her collarbone while she squirms under me, trying to press closer, trying to get friction on her needy clit and pussy. I don’t let her, though. I make her wait, loving her whimpers and moans.

I trail kisses down the slope of her breast, teasing the tip of one nipple. Then the other. She arches toward me, offering me more, but I don’t take the bait.

“You’re a tease, Preston Hott,” she says huskily.

“You’re worth the wait, Natalie Archer,” I tell her, and then I draw spirals on one breast, circling from the outside in, closing on the tight nub of her nipple. Teasing over it once, twice, again. She’s worked my thigh between hers now and is rubbing against me, and I use both my hands and hips to pin her because I don’t want her coming too fast. I want to take my time with her. I want to make her desperate.

“You’re mean,” she whines.

“You like it.”

I take off my own shirt because I love the way she looks at me. The way her eyes go hazy and unfocused, the way they linger and admire. I could watch her watch me all day, and if that makes me an egotistical bastard, I’ll take it. Except I’m not as patient as I think I am; as I strip off the rest of my clothes, my cock is demanding, my mouth is hungry for the feel of those nipples, my hands want her smooth skin under them. I go back to work, licking my way down her belly, lush and bitable. My teeth find the waistband of her capris, and my hands take over, pull them down, and then her panties. I settle myself between her legs, shoulders pushing her open, one hand reaching to keep up my tease, flicking the tips of her breasts, taut and beaded.

It takes all my self-control not to grind myself against the bed, but I want to give her everything I’ve got, so I make myself keep still while I run my tongue up her seam, opening her so I can see her sweet, swollen clit, so I can lick it, so I can make her lift her hips and grab my hair and call my name. She does, and I lick more, harder, circling her.

“Preston,” she whimpers.

“What do you need, Nat?”

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