Page 113 of You Rock My World
51
JOSIE
Dorian takes the stairs two at a time, his grip on me secure, his breathing steady despite carrying me. I’d be impressed if I weren’t distracted by the cage of muscles I’m riding in. His chest, arms, even his shoulders are firm. Every shift sends a ripple through him—biceps flexing, chest hardening—and it passes on to me as a shiver.
I secure my arms around his neck more firmly, breathless as the second flight disappears under us. “How are you carrying me as if I weigh nothing?”
His laugh vibrates against my side. “Adrenaline.”
“That’s not how adrenaline works.”
“I don’t care,” he says as we crest the last step.
“You could have let me walk.” I nuzzle against his neck.
“And miss the chance to show off?” His voice is teasing, but underneath, he sounds possessive. “Nah.”
Dorian nudges his bedroom door open with his boot before striding inside and kicking it shut behind us. The room is dark except for the soft glow of the city filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline stretches endlessly beyond us, but I barely notice it. Dorian is the only thing I see.
He lowers me to the mattress with a care that contradicts the heat simmering in his gaze. My breath stutters as I sink into the sheets and his weight settles between my thighs. His hands frame my face, warm and steady, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as he looks down at me. I can read so much in his expression—his eyes say,I love you, I want you, I need you.
I love him, I want him, and I need him right back.
I curl my fingers into his jacket. “Kiss me.”
Dorian doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes down on mine, capturing my lips with a groan, his teeth dragging over my lower lip. We’ve kissed a bunch of times, and each one has been different. It’s the same for this one. Because finally, we’re not hiding, no one is watching. It’s a kiss that’s not stolen or forbidden. Something we have to pretend isn’t happening. This is real, open, and ours. We’re alone. Just us, together, finally free to want—no barriers, no limits.
His lips are fire, his body a heavy weight wrapping around me, staking his claim. I grab the lapels of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it without breaking contact. Dorian kisses me deeper, making up for lost time.
His hands slide underneath my sweatshirt, palms skimming my sides. My back bows as if to help him remove the useless barrier faster, pressing me harder against him.
I want more, need more. But… Oh.Oh.
I freeze, my stomach dropping as a horrifying realization slams into me.
I shove his hands away, gripping my sweatshirt before he can lift it. “Wait?—”
Dorian stops, his brows pulling together, breathing heavily. “What’s wrong?”
I groan, covering my face with both hands. “I’m not wearing my best seduction outfit right now.”
He stills, and I worry I’ve killed the mood. But then he crawls over me, prying my hands away from my face. “Are you serious?”
I wince. “Dorian, I’m literally wearing my oldest leggings with a hole in the butt and period-stained granny panties.”
He stares at me, shocked, then his lips twitch before he’s full-on laughing. The sound rolls over me, warm and tingly.
I glare at him. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, I think it’sveryfunny.” Dorian’s grin is nothing short of wicked as his fingers skim the hem of my sweatshirt, toying with the fabric. “None of that matters to me.”
I turn my head, a wave of embarrassment creeping over me, but he doesn’t let me look away, he grabs my chin and turns my face to him. “Let me make one thing absolutely clear. Baby, you could wear a garbage bag, and I’d still think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
I scowl. “That’s a terrible analogy.”
Dorian leans down, dragging his mouth along the column of my throat, pressing a kiss on my jaw. “And it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” His hands slip under my clothes again. “Because I’m taking it all off anyway.”
His palms skim up my sides. Heat pools low in my stomach as Dorian sits back on his knees, drags the sweatshirt over my head, and sends it flying somewhere. I’m done protesting or worrying he might be turned off by my crappy clothes. Especially as his eyes darken as they sweep over the old, unsexy bra I’m wearing, his thumbs teasing the strip of skin above my waistband.
