Page 86 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
He holds me up when I sag against him, dizzy and disoriented, intoxicated by his taste. Three seconds in and I’m addicted. I’m a helpless, filthy addict, and what’s worse is I don’t even care.
I always laughed when I read in romance novels how the hero “ravaged” the heroine’s mouth. Now I know how accurate that description is. He kisses me senseless, wrecking not only my resistance but my ability for rational thought, taking what he wants without apology or hesitation.
Plundering. Like a pirate. Like an invader.
Like a boss.
“That’s it, bella,” he murmurs when I shudder. “Feel it.”
Holy shit, do I.
He takes my mouth again, but just as quickly breaks away, leaving me panting and blinking in shock. Frowning, he looks at his watch. He presses a button on it, then turns back to me with a smile. “Sorry. Two minutes, you said.”
“You started a timer?”
“Don’t want to go over, do we?”
I shout, “How are you so irritating?”
He grins, and it’s breathtaking. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I forget to be angry. I think the bastard knew he’d have that effect on me because he makes this sound deep in his throat, a little grunt of satisfaction.
I’ll kill him later. Right now I’m swimming too deep in Horny Lake to pull off a murder.
His hand cradles my head while his other arm holds me tightly against his body. My arms wind around his neck. What started as a kiss turns into an incredible feedback loop of sensation as our bodies instinctively coordinate, our breathing falling into the same rhythm, our hearts thudding the same urgent beat.
His breath is my own.
My skin is on fire.
I never, ever want this to end.
Against my mouth, he says, “I think you needed this as much as I did.”
I keep my eyes closed when I whisper, “I still hate you, but I have time left, so please shut the hell up.”
His chuckle is dark and sends a bolt of pure lust straight down between my legs. His fingers curl into a fist in my hair, and he pulls my head back a little, angling my jaw to allow him better access to my neck, which he takes quick advantage of.
His mouth feels like velvet. His tongue sweeps against the pulse in my throat. He works his way down my neck, kissing and gently sucking, until he reaches the open collar of my blouse. When he dips the tip of his tongue into the hollow of my throat, it feels as if I’m being electrocuted.
Digging my fingers into his shoulders, I softly moan.
And, oh God, he starts to whisper in Italian, moving his mouth to the other side of my neck, slowly working his way back up until he’s nuzzling the sensitive spot under my ear. He whispers something else and moves my body slightly so my pelvis is against his, and I feel his arousal.
A tremor runs through me, as fine as a breeze through grass.
When our lips meet again, I sink my fingers into his hair and pull him as close as I can get him, greedily sucking his tongue, unashamed at the little desperate noises I’m making, thinking of nothing except him. How big he is. How warm. How his chest feels against my breasts. How hard he is for me . . .
How I’d love to see the look on his face if I sank to my knees, unzipped his trousers, and took all that hardness as far as I could down my throat.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Matteo pulls away so abruptly I gasp.
He glances at his watch. “Time’s up.” Then he looks back at me and says, “That was mediocre. If you’re not going to put your heart into it, let’s forget the whole thing.”
He reaches around me for his briefcase, turns away, and walks out the door.
