Page 33 of Wolfish Player
“Some.” My voice is breathier than I’d like. “You?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough that I think I can go home for the rest of the weekend.”
“You honestly think I would let that happen?”
“If you don’t, you’d be committing a kidnapping.”
“It’s not kidnapping if the victim is willing…”
I turn, meaning to brush past him, but he doesn’t move. He’s leaning against the counter, arms braced on either side, caging me in. His cologne and the heat of his body steal the air from my lungs.
“Adrian…” I whisper. I don’t even know if it’s a protest or an invitation.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes burning into mine.
I don’t.
His mouth crashes onto mine, hard, unrelenting. The kiss is all heat and teeth and tongue, leaving me gasping. His hand slides to my wrist, pinning it against the counter, while the other clamps onto my hip, pulling me flush against the erection straining his slacks.
A whimper escapes my throat. He swallows it, kissing me deeper, until my knees threaten to give.
He lifts me suddenly, my legs locking around his waist as he carries me backward. My spine hits the glass wall, the cold shocking against my skin. He grinds against me through our clothes, and the window rattles faintly with every roll of his hips.
“Ahhhh,” I gasp when his hand slides under my blouse, rough palm covering my breast. He squeezes, thumb brushing over my nipple until I arch into him, shameless and needy.
His mouth drags down my neck, biting lightly at the base. “You taste so fucking good…”
All I can do is moan as he thrusts harder against me.
“This is what you’ve been dreaming about, isn’t it?” he growls against my throat. “Me taking you apart?”
We don’t make it far before he carries me to the living room, his lips still devouring mine. He drops me onto the couch, his tie dangling loose, his jacket already gone.
“Take it off,” he orders, eyes fixed on me.
I hesitate for half a second. Then I pull my blouse over my head, baring lace that suddenly feels far too fragile. His gaze darkens. He shoves my skirt up and presses me back into the cushions, his mouth covering every inch of exposed skin.
When I reach for him, he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. His other hand skims lower, tracing my stomach, slipping beneath lace until his fingers slide between my thighs.
I gasp, hips jerking, as he circles my clit with slow, devastating precision.
“You don’t like this?” he drawls.
“No…” I bite out a lie, breathless.
“Liar…”
My attempt at another insult turns into another moan when he thrusts two fingers inside me, pumping slow, steady, relentless. His thumb never leaves my clit, the dual assault pushing me closer and closer until I’m gasping his name.
When release finally rips through me, I cry out, shuddering beneath him. He doesn’t let up until I’m trembling, undone.
Then his mouth crashes back onto mine, hungry, consuming, as if he’s determined to make me come apart all over again.
A sharp sound cuts through the haze—the rip of foil. My eyes fly open. Heat and embarrassment flood my cheeks, mixing with a darker rush of relief I don’t want to name. The fact that he thought ahead, that he came prepared, only makes my pulse race harder.
