Page 99 of Across the Boards

“Apparently,” she breathes, her fingers tightening in my hair, keeping me where she wants me.

When she rocks against me deliberately, a small, satisfied smile playing at her lips at my reaction, I realize I’ve underestimated her. For all her caution and overthinking, Elliot Waltman knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And she’s enjoying it.

“Two can play that game,” I warn, sliding my hands up under the jersey, pushing it up to reveal the thin tank top beneath. Her skin is impossibly soft, warming under my touch as I trace the curve of her waist, the delicate line of her ribs, the swell of her breast.

She tugs at my shirt impatiently, and I break the kiss just long enough to pull it over my head. Her eyes darken as she takes in my bare chest, her hands immediately exploring, learning the contours of muscle and the texture of skin.

“Your turn.”

She raises her arms in silent permission, and I pull it off in one smooth motion, dropping it beside us on the couch. Her tank top follows, leaving her in a black lace bra that knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Christ, Elliot,” I manage, taking in the sight of her.

A flush spreads across her skin as I stare, but there’s no hesitation in her eyes, no retreat into overthinking. Just desire, and a confidence I haven’t seen before.

“Like what you see, Carter?” She asks, voice teasing even as her fingers trail down my chest.

In answer, I cup her breast through the lace, brushing my thumb over her nipple. She arches into my touch with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes fluttering closed. When I repeat the motion, she rocks against me again, the friction is almost too much.

“Bed,” she says, the word half command, half plea. “Now.”

I stand with her still wrapped around me, her legs locked at my back. The movement presses us together even more intimately, drawing a small, desperate sound from her that I immediately want to hear again.

“Hold on,” I murmur against her neck, carrying her down the hallway to her bedroom.

I lay her on the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her—flushed and wanting, hair spread across the pillow, eyes dark with desire. My jersey might be on the living room floor, but she’s still unmistakably mine.

She reaches for me, impatient, and I go willingly, covering her body with mine. The feel of her beneath me—soft curves against hard planes—is better than any fantasy I’ve had over the years of wanting her.

“Still overthinking?” I ask, nipping at her collarbone.

“Not even a little,” she admits, hands working at my belt. “Just feeling.”

I help her push my jeans down, kicking them off before returning my attention to her body.

When I reach behind her to unhook her bra, she arches to give me access, the movement pressing her more firmly against me. The lace falls away, and I take a moment just to look at her—the perfect weight of her breasts, the dusky rose of her nipples drawn tight with arousal.

“Beautiful,” I breathe, lowering my head to taste her.

She cries out as my mouth closes around her nipple, her hands clutching at my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down my spine. I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention, reveling in the way she writhes beneath me.

Her jeans are next to go, my hands sliding them down her legs, revealing matching black lace that makes my mouth go dry. The sight of Elliot Waltman in nothing but black lace panties, wanting me, is almost enough to undo me completely.

“You too,” she demands, tugging at my boxer briefs.

I oblige, pushing them down and kicking them aside, baring myself to her gaze. Her eyes widen slightly, a small smile playing at her lips as she takes me in.

“Impressive,” she murmurs, hand reaching out to wrap around me.

I close my eyes at her touch, fighting for control. “Elliot,” I warn, voice strained.

She smirks, pleased with her effect on me, but releases me to trail her fingers up my chest instead.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, looking up for permission. She nods, lifting her hips to help as I slide the lace down her legs.

And then she’s bare beneath me, all smooth skin and soft curves, more beautiful than I could have imagined during those years of wondering, of wanting. I settle between her legs, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, working my way higher.

When I finally taste her, her reaction is everything I hoped for—a sharp cry, her back arching off the bed, hands fisting in the sheets. I take my time, learning what she likes, what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.

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