Page 44 of Uncharted Desires
Blake lets out a tiny moan. “I don’t know. You tell me.” He pushes his hips back, his body swallowing more of my finger as he does. “I’ve been practicing, too.”
My balls ache at the words as the implication behind them sends my senses into overdrive. “With inanimate objects, I hope.”
He reaches behind and grabs the back of my neck, arching his body. “If you can call my fingers inanimate.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Just Blake is fine.”
His eyes are closed, and I swipe my gaze over the crowd. There are at least twenty pairs of eyes looking,staringat Blake. I can’t blame them; with the way he moves into my touch in rhythm with the music. But no one will get to see him tonight.
No. Not before I do.
He whines audibly as I force myself to let go of his body and pull my hands from behind his waistband.
“Come,” I say.
“Make me.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I intend to.”
Heat flashes in his eyes as I grab his arm, my grip strong and possessive, and drag him out of the room and into the one next door.
“Where are we going?”
I ignore his question, maneuvering us through the crowd until we reach a single door in a dark corner. I use my staff card to unlock it and open it for him. “After you.”
He hesitates for a second before stepping in and gasps as he enters.
I walk right behind him and lock the door.
“What is this place?”
Red lights partly illuminate the space, two on each wall, fancy curtains hanging between them, ceiling to floor.
And in the middle, there’s a giant, square leather sofa, big enough to host an orgy.
“A private room,” I say as I step in deeper and plop down on it. “For private parties.”
He looks around before walking up to me, close but out of reach. “And are we allowed to be here?”
I prop my hands behind me and lean back, my gaze dancing around his body with way too many clothes on it. “We’re a private party, aren’t we?”
Blake moves closer and puts his palms on my neck, massaging the back of my scalp. “Let’s party, then.”
He grabs my hair and pulls my head back sharply before pushing on my chest, making my back fall flat on the sofa.
His movements are rough and impatient. If he wants to be in charge, I’ll let him.
My mouth waters as he pops open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, and shrugs it off his shoulders. He puts one knee on the edge of the sofa, and with his gaze glued to my chest, he drops his hand down and massages the bulge in his pants. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”
Whether it’s the week-long wait or something truly shifted inside him since the night he first walked in here, I don’t know. But one thing is sure—the Blake from back then is nowgone, and in his place, there’s a man that continues to shock the hell out of me every step of the way.
I sit up, my head level with his bare chest, and pull my t-shirt off my body. Grabbing his waist, I stretch my neck and run my tongue around his nipple, the bud growing sharp enough to cut glass.
Blake puts his free hand on the back of my head and pulls me closer.
I lap circles with my tongue all around his peck as I fumble to unbutton and open my pants as best as my position allows me.
