Page 47 of Inarticulate

“This is the usual?” She wondered how many times it took to make something a remembered ritual. How many women had he shared this with? How many lovers?

He strolled forward to sit on the sofa. His robe stretched wide, gifting her with the expanse of his muscled chest as he spread his arms along the backrest.

“How many women, Keenan?” she purred, pretending like she wasn’t entirely invested in receiving his answer.

He leaned forward and lifted one of the domes, exposing a bowl of strawberries dribbled with white and milk chocolate. He threw one in his mouth, his jaw working over the fruit in a devilish rhythm that made her ovaries want to dance.

“You’re not enjoying my line of questioning?” She sauntered toward him, meeting his raised brow with a seductive grin. “How many, stud?”

She wanted to know the number of women she had to erase from his mind. Was the total achievable? Did she stand a chance?

He turned his focus back to the coffee table and reached for another strawberry.

Fine. He was a stubborn bastard. But more potent than her desire for answers was her thirst for his attention. She wanted those eyes focused on her, his visual embrace caressing every nerve ending.

She stopped before him, their feet brushing. She placed one knee on the sofa beside his thigh and licked her lips in a blatant provocation as she straddled his lap.

If he wouldn’t gift her with his focus, she’d take it instead.

“How many?” she whispered against his mouth.

He met her gaze, reading her, his mental feelers getting to the heart of her question.

“No,” he mouthed.

The scent of his strawberry breath tickled her nose, but it wasn’t tempting enough to dislodge the vulnerability that prickled her skin.

She was struggling to bat away the emotional baggage piling at her feet. Their time together was about sex. It was merely physical. Entirely casual. Yet it seemed like they’d passed into something tangible a long time ago. At least she had.

“Lost count, huh?” She leaned into his shoulder and ran her lips along his neck to hide her face. “I guess I’ll have to try extra hard to make a lasting impression.”

He gripped her waist and pushed her back so suddenly that it tore a gasp from her throat.

“No,” he mouthed and this time it was with anger. He pointed at his chest, jabbing his finger against his skin in harsh movements. “I do.”

“You have to make an impression?” Her lips curved, her pleasure visible for him to see. “You already did that long ago. I’ve become obsessed with the unique thrill of you.” She still knew very little about the man who had tangled her heart in his grasp. But everything apart from the here and now seemed inconsequential. Background noise.

“You’re a guilty indulgence, do you know that?”

His focus remained harsh as his arm sailed around her back, holding her, controlling her, as he leaned forward to snatch another strawberry. This time he didn’t bring it to his sensuous lips, he touched it to hers, teasing, tempting.

She opened her mouth for a taste and he retreated to trail a path of chocolate along the side of her jaw, then her collarbone. His eyes tracked the journey, and the arm holding her disappeared to roughly tug the lapels of her robe apart. He swiped the fruit down her cleavage, over the top of her breast, and then grazed it over her nipple. Back and forth he moved, tightening the flesh to a painful peak.

“Care for a taste?” she teased.

She didn’t have a chance to pause for breath before his mouth was on her, his tongue licking the chocolate off her nipple like he was starved of sustenance. He was rough, ravenous, as he retraced the path from her breast to her cleavage, her collarbone and then her jaw.

She ground into him, succumbing to her body’s demand for friction. All she could see was him—those eyes, delicious lips, smooth, flawless skin. Then he took her mouth, licking the chocolate from her lips before delving deeper with his tongue. They became a mass of tangled arms that fought for supremacy and nails that dug into skin. There was no finesse. No control. It was all jerky movements and grinding hips.

He pulled back in a harsh withdrawal and panted into the air between them. He was shaking, his chest convulsing in a defenseless movement that sprinkled her confidence with magical fairy dust.

“Am I too much for you?” She bit at his lower lip, sinking her teeth deep.

He growled, low and devilishly sexy. She smiled into the vibration and then gasped when he gripped her hips and stood. She clung to him, her arms and legs holding him tight as he marched them toward an open door at the far end of the room.

She peered over her shoulder, her heart skipping a beat at the king-size bed. It was darker in here, the lights of the city and the glow from the main room of the penthouse their only illumination. He placed her down on the covers and dug into his robe pocket to pull out a condom.

He sheathed his length before she could reposition herself on the mattress, then he was back between her thighs, the head of his shaft finding right where it needed to be.

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