Page 67 of That One Night
“Okay then,” she murmured. “Take me to bed.”
And that was all he needed to hear.
He carried her into his bedroom, his muscles tight as he put her on the bed. Emery looked around. He kept a neat bedroom. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but not this.
“Oh, your room is pretty,” she said to him, trying not to sound so surprised. It was simple, that’s for sure. Old furniture he’d found in resale stores and refinished. The walls were whitewashed and the curtains were some flowery fabric.
“It’s prettier now,” he told her.
She smiled at him, feeling the softness of his coverlet beneath her palms. “For a man who says he’s not good with words, you certainly know how to use them.”
He shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s the truth.”
Their gazes locked with a soft kind of yearning that made her feel hollow and full at the same time.
“Then come and show me how true it is,” she whispered. He looked at her like he was trying to figure her out. She nodded, and could see understanding wash over him.
He knew her well enough to understand this was her way of giving consent. He stepped toward her, his gaze taking in the short pajamas with a flowered pattern on them, her scrubbed clean face and mussed up hair.
The shorts were bunched up around her waist, from where he’d put her down on his bed. He curled his hands around her ankles, his fingers tracing her skin like he was trying to imprint her into his brain.
And then, taking her by surprise, he yanked her legs apart.
The sudden movement sent a shot of desire through her. Reflecting the need in his eyes as he stared down at her. Her lips parted with a soft breath as he leaned in to kiss her thigh.
His mouth was rough against her skin as he moved his lips against her. She reached down, threading her fingers through his hair, murmuring his name.
“Is this okay?” he asked, tracing her thighs with his fingers. Then he slid them up until they were tracing the hem of her shorts.
She nodded. It was more than okay. It was what she needed. The connection she’d been searching for. She had to feel him touch her. To know he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He pushed his hands beneath the soft cotton of her shorts, his fingers grazing the skin where her thighs met her hips.
“I lied when I said I didn’t know what to do with your panties,” he said, his voice rough. “I kept them because I like you. I like this.”
“I’m glad you kept them,” she whispered. His touch was driving her crazy. Everything about her was on fire. “I like the thought of you looking at them. Thinking of me.”
“That’s good,” he said gruffly. “Because you’re not getting them back.”
And then he touched herthereand she let out a soft cry.
She was wet. She could tell by the way his fingers glided so easily against her. He was still gentle. Still soft, like he was learning her body inch by inch.
Then he found the tiny bud, the most sensitive part of her. His finger traced it, running the tiniest of circles over her.
“Oh my God.”
“Okay?” he murmured.
“Kiss me.”
He smiled, looking a little dazed as he lifted his head. Without stopping the teasing, circular movements, he leaned over her, claiming her mouth with his.
“So pretty. So wet for me.” He slid his finger inside of her, making her body convulse around him.
“Hendrix…”
He smiled at her passioned cry. “I want to taste you,” he told her.
“Please.”
