Page 72 of All Twerk, No Play

I smacked his arm as his laugh loosened something in my chest. “I learned how to take care of myself.”

His pupils blew wide. “I bet you did.”

I interlaced my fingers to stop fidgeting and lifted my chin. “So if you need to go, I understand. But I’d still like to do this. If you’re willing.”

Indecision warred on his face as he chewed that full bottom lip. “No contract?”

“No contract,” I agreed, trying to sound confident but my voice wavered. He must have caught my hesitation because he stepped closer, lifting his calloused fingertips to brush my cheek. His eyes crinkled as I leaned into his touch.

“Here’s what I propose instead,” he said, his voice soft like he didn’t want to disturb our tenuous agreement. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming in heavy. “You tell me what you like, I’ll try to give you what you want. You don’t like something, you tell me to stop.”

“That simple?”

“That simple,” he nodded. His thumb brushed my cheek, lowering his head, our mouths an inch apart. “Say yes, and we’ll figure it out.”

My hands clutched the fabric of his shirt to stay upright as the world tilted beneath my feet. I breathed against his lips, “Yes.”

His lips slanted over mine. The kiss was sweet and tentative, yet with a hunger lingering just below the surface. I could get lost in his hand sliding into my hair, cradling my head as if I were delicate. Each touch was careful, like every point of contact between our bodies mattered.

He nipped my bottom lip, light and teasing, leaving me aching for more. But he moved slower than our earlier kisses, when it felt like he’d die if our lips parted. Why was he holding back?

Craving that intensity, I pressed my breasts into his chest, skimming my tongue against his lower lip. His lips stayed soft but didn’t part.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked. He tilted my cheek into his palm, starting a slow trail down the length my neck.

“You don’t have to be gentle, I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” he pulled back, and I shivered from the loss of his warmth. “We’ll get there. But right now, I just like kissing you.” He met my eyes, expression concerned. “Is that ok?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, still impatient but uncomfortable about telling him to kiss faster. I loosened my grip on his shirt as his lips returned to my jaw, wondering how long he would take.

Eric’s mouth started forming words against my neck, a melody emerging as the lyrics advised a crazy child to slow down, to cool it off before burning out …

I shook my head. “Do you have a song for every occasion?”

“I guess so,” he said against my neck. “Though it’s my first time singing Billy Joel while making out.”

“Aren’t Billy Joel songs too old for you?”

“I listen to his greatest hits whenever tenants move out,” Eric explained, his eyes brimming with lust. “Do you have more questions about the Piano Man? Or can I get back to seducing you?”

“By all means,” I said, threading my hand through his hair, listening to his soothing melody about being so ahead of yourself that you forget what you need. His calloused palms traced the slant of my shoulders, the V of my cleavage, the ruching at my waist … but never dipped under my dress. I arched my back, my hard nipples begging for attention. His knuckles gently teased the sensitive peaks until my lips parted on a sigh.

Following his lead, I slid my hands beneath his shirt to trace his ribs. “Off?”

He broke contact long enough for me to drag his shirt over his head to reveal the tattoos on his chest and biceps. I’d ogled them in the elevator, lusted over them while hungover. Both times I’d wanted to explore the colors with my fingertips, tracing the lines with my tongue … and now I finally could.

His heavy-lidded gaze tracked my lips lowering to his shoulder. His arm tightened around my waist to tug my hips against his erection. As I kissed along the inked path, his fingertips pinched my nipple.

When I whimpered, he chuckled.

Two can play this game.

I skimmed his firm pec, using my thumbnail to scrape his nipple. His head dropped back with a groan, muttering under his breath about trying to take his time. He lowered me into the work chair behind me, knelt and placed his warm palms on my knees. “Is this what you want?”

I parted my legs. He slid a hand under my skirt, grazing my inner thigh.

“Your panties are soaked,” he murmured. His fingertips brushed the lace, making my hips spasm.

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