Page 5 of Babies for the Big Shot
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s both of us.
But suddenly his hand is on my waist, my back hits the elevator wall, and his mouth is right there, hovering an inch from mine.
“Still think I’m not clever?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.
I can barely breathe. “I think you’re a walking bad decision.”
He smirks. “Probably.”
His hand slides to my jaw, gentle but firm, tilting my face up.
Our eyes lock.
No more banter. No more quips. Just the sound of my pulse roaring in my ears and the heady scent of his cologne making me forget my own damn name.
Then he kisses me.
Andholy hell.
It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s the kind of kiss that lights a match and drops it into your ribcage.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that makes my back arch and my toes curl in their too tight heels. One hand tangles in my hair. The other anchors at my waist, pulling me in until there’s not a breath of space between us.
I kiss him back with the kind of desire that lives in the hollow parts of me. Where logic shuts up and need takes over. Maybe I don’t have anything to lose. Maybe he’s the burning desire and release for a craving I never knew had a cure.
Then I pull back, just barely, breath catching, lips buzzing, heart slamming against my ribs, ready to claw its way out.
“You’re a walking Wall Street cliché,” I pant.
He gives me a dark, satisfied look. “And you’re clearly into poor decisions.”
Before he can smirk again, I grab the lapels of his very expensive suit jacket and yank.
Buttons fly. One bounces off the mirrored wall with a tinyping!of moral decay.
He doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he growls, a low, dangerous sound that sends a jolt straight between my thighs, and spins me around so fast I gasp, my back slamming against the cool elevator mirror with a thud.
The mirror shudders behind me. His chest crushes into mine. One hand drags down my leg, gripping hard, claiming, hauling it up around his waist. Possession burns in every touch, every breath.
I’m his. Right now, there’s no question.
I suck in a sharp breath.
“What are we doing?” I whisper, half laughing, half melting.
His mouth finds the underside of my jaw, hot and devastating. “Making very poor decisions.”
I groan as his lips trail down my neck, his stubble scraping just enough to make me gasp.
“This elevator has a camera,” I point out.
He lifts his head, eyes hooded and dark. “Then we’d better give them something to talk about.”
Oh hell.
He kisses me with the desperation of a man starved, devouring me as if I’m the only thing keeping him alive. There’s no hesitation, no restraint, just heat, hunger, and hands that claim every inch of me as if they’ve always known where I needed him most.
