Page 40 of Must Have Been Love

His fingers dip to the edge of my leather bodice, leaving a trail of fire across the swell of my breasts.

“I’m not like her, Hudson,” I say. “I don’t wash my dishes right after I’ve eaten. I don’t make my bed most days. I’d drive you up the wall within a minute.”

His breath catches.

“I think I can handle you,” he murmurs.

The words feel like the softest of knives to my heart. Like a threat and a promise. The truth is, I believe him.

I’m the one who can’t handle this. Yes, I put on a good game face. I pretend I don’t care. But I’ve never been one for a casual relationship. For fuck buddies or anything else that doesn’t involve emotions.

Out of the two of us, I figure I’m the one who’d get hurt here.

And yet my body doesn’t get the memo. Sliding my hands between his jacket and shirt, I feel the warmth of his skin as it leeches through the cotton. And then, because I’m an idiot who has no idea of self preservation, I push the jacket off him, as he pulls off his own tie, then unfastens the top two buttons to give himself room to breathe.

I can see the dip at the bottom of his throat as it meets his ribcage. I want to kiss it, so I do, leaning forward, tasting his skin.

If I thought my heart was pounding before, it’s pretty much launching itself on a suicide mission against my ribcage now. My breath is short, my legs are weak, pleasure is pooling between my thighs as he leans down to softly kiss the skin beneath my ear.

“Hudson…”

“Hush.” His lips are soft, teasing. “Unless you want me to stop.”

I do. I don’t. I just… God he knows how to tease. Slowly he kisses his way along my jaw until his lips are a breath away from mine.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I want to make you come so hard it’ll split your soul in two.”

Dear God! Before I can respond his lips press against mine, and my whole body heats up in appreciation. My fingers curl around his shirt to steady myself, as he moves his mouth, kissing me softly at first.

Then hard, his mouth opening, our tongues colliding, his hands caressing my hips, my waist, my ass. I hook my arms around his neck, kissing him back like my life depends on it, arching my back until I feel his hard ridge of excitement pressing against me.

The man is big in every way.

I run my hands up his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscles on his abdomen, then the tight points of his nipples beneath the white cotton. He groans as my fingers graze them, the rumbling from his throat sending another shot of pleasure to the neediest part of me, before he slides his hands over my ass again and lifts me up, turning around before he carries me to his desk and slides me onto it, using his palm to push the papers piled neatly to my left until they scatter onto the floor.

My mouth already misses his, so I sit up, reaching for him, pulling him between my legs until he’s kissing me again. His fingers dip inside my leather bodice as his tongue teases mine, his warm hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples until they’re so hard and tender.

My own fingers tangle into his thick, dark hair as he kisses his way down my jaw, my throat, to the swell of my breasts. His hands make short work of the lace fastening my bodice, pushing the leather open until my breasts are exposed, and he takes me in with a dark-eyed stare.

“Christ,” he murmurs, as I arch my back until my breasts are close to his face. “Do you know how perfect you are?”

I want to laugh. I’m anything but perfect. But this man somehow is making me feel like a goddess.

He dips his head and his lips capture one of my nipples, his teeth grazing as his tongue soothes. His hand slides beneath my back to steady me against him. I scrape my fingers against his scalp and he murmurs something unintelligible in appreciation.

Somehow he’s unlaced the last of the eyelets, and my bodice falls to the desktop beneath me, leaving me exposed to him. He takes his time, kissing each breast with appreciation, teasing my nipples and stroking my body like a man who knows exactly what he wants. And then he lowers his mouth to my tattoo, tracing the edges of it with his tongue.

Just when I think I couldn’t get any more turned on, he slides his hand down my stomach, along my thighs and dips it beneath the hem of my skirt, pushing it up, exposing me.

And then he grins. A boyish, heart melting smile that makes me realize how rarely he looks happy. “You’re wearing panties.”

“I know.”

Sliding his hands over my legs, he traces the edge of my skin-colored panties. “Maybe you’re not the bad girl you think you are,” he says, his fingers touching the center of them. Even though there’s a layer of cotton between his hand and my aching core, I almost jump out of my skin.

“Maybe I’m worse. Now you know I’m a liar.”

He slides a finger under the cotton, muttering a soft oath when he feels how turned on I am for him. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, his middle finger finding the bundle of nerves that are so swollen I swear I’m on the edge of oblivion.

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