Page 33 of Big Boss
“May I kiss you?” he asks, his voice so low I almost think I’m imagining it. Except this moment is approximately one million times better than my imagination.
“You already have, remember?” I drag my teeth along my bottom lip and watch as his eyes follow the movement again. He’s so close to me now that I can smell him. Male, warm skin, an undercurrent of coffee, an after hint of the leather jacket he was wearing, and the spicy mint scent of his expensive shampoo.
I want to bury my face against his chest and breathe him in. But more than that, I want him to be adrift in the same feelings I’m having. The heavy waves of something between us that hasn’t been here before. I feel like every inch of my body is alight with anticipation, this moment before we kiss.
His eyes glitter in the dim lighting of his indoor waterfall. It couldn’t be any more clear to me that I have absolutely nothing in common with this man, and that I definitely have no business being inside his home and thinking about his mouth.
But I’m already here, and I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about his mouth. Or the rest of him, for that matter.
He reaches out and slides two fingers along my cheek, leaving a burning thread of sensation in their wake. “There’s nobody here but the two of us. And this time, I want to kiss you for real.”
I flush with pleasure at his words. “Please.” The whispered word fills up the space between us, and before I can process the “for real” in that sentence, his lips are on mine, his tongue stroking against mine, and my pulse is racing to the point where I feel dizzy all over again.
It’s just a kiss,I tell myself, as I feel my pulse racing and my hands starting to shake.You’ve kissed people before.
And I have, that’s true. But I’ve never kissed a man like Donovan Tate before. A man who takes control of every part of me through his kiss alone.
When we break for a moment of intense, heavy breathing, I finally allow myself the luxury of reaching up and letting his hair loose. The texture is silky against my fingers, and the scent of his minty shampoo intensifies, sending little pleasant tingles along the back of my neck.
I focus on slowing my breathing and hoping my racing pulse will follow. But my mouth feels swollen from the deep, drugging kisses he keeps giving me. “Did you mean what you said earlier? In the car?”
He pauses, his eyes fixed on my face, taking in my flushed cheeks and the messy nest of my hair. “Abso-fucking-lutely. No takebacks. But, Erica, you’re in control of whatever happens next.” He takes a deep breath. “Which would you prefer? That I take you home? Or that you spend the night here, with me?”
And this time, I’m the one doing the kissing, my mouth ravenous against his. Because this man, the most attractive man in the entire world, wants me. Even though he knows exactly how awkward and weird I really am, he still wants me, and he’s not embarrassed about it one little bit.
“I want to stay here with you,” I finally manage, and I can feel his lips curl into that devastating smile against my skin. But it’s not his public smile. This is his private one, a little shy and a lot sweet, and it does things to me that I’m not ready to admit to myself yet.
I watch him carefully as I ask the next question. “Donovan, do you think people who are best friends can have sex and have it turn out okay?”
The wait before he answers me takes approximately forever. Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Erica. I’ve never had sex with someone I considered one of my best friends before.”
He flashes me a mischievous grin. “Ethan, Jackson, and Sebastian aren’t exactly my type.”
The air thickens as he moves closer toward me. “We could try, though. If you want to. I want to do whatever you want me to, Erica.” His mouth slides along the side of my neck, not kissing exactly, but close enough for me to feel the heat from his mouth, the movement of his breath when he speaks, the barest edge of his perfect teeth.
I shiver and pull away from him and force our eyes to meet again. “I want you to kiss me.” I wrap my arms around him because I can’t look at him any longer. Trying to look directly at a man like Donovan Tate is like trying to stare into the sun. It’s too intense for mere mortals like me. But since he’s not pulling away or kissing me yet, I speak up.
“Can you do it soon? Possibly right now?”
“That’s more than enough talking for now,” he murmurs, and his lips return to drag along the side of my neck, his tongue tracing some sort of secret code along my earlobe that sends signals directly to the throbbing ache between my thighs.
“Yes,” I hiss as he bites my tender skin. I want him to go wild, to be as obsessed with my scent and flavor as I am with his.
His voice rumbles along my skin as I melt against him. “But you can say that particular word as much as you want.”
He slides his fingers into my hair, pulling against the wild strands of my curls until my scalp stings, sending a shiver down the full length of my body. “Yes,” I breathe out again.
“You’re such a good girl, Erica. You’re going to look so beautiful when you come for me, aren’t you?”
The roughness of his voice and the promise of his words send little arrows of heat all over my body, leaving me flushed and breathing fast.
“My God. Yes,” I gasp, pressing my aching body harder against his thick, muscled thigh.
“It’s not God you’re going to call for when I’m the one giving you pleasure, baby. Say my name.” He gives my hair a sharp tug, forcing my eyes to open and find his gaze locked on me.
“Tate,” I whisper. “I can’t—” but my voice breaks because his other hand has moved to my hip, then around to grab my ass. He’s pulling me downward onto his thigh, guiding me to ride his muscled flesh until I find more of the pleasure that’s simmering in my veins.
“Yes, you can, my good girl. I know you want to let go and come for me, don’t you?” He lets go of me just long enough to move to sit in one of his giant leather and chrome chairs, sliding my body down on top of his and settling my legs wide around his hips.
