Page 36 of Falling for Roxanne

“Yes?” he said, prompting me to speak.

“I forgot what I was going to say,” I admitted. I squirmed a little in the seat, my arousal distracting me. I wanted him so much, even more than I had only this morning. It was the sweetest, worst torment I could imagine, being so close to him but not being able to touch him or reach for him.

“Here we are,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching for my seatbelt buckle.

I unfastened it but it got hung on the blazer I’d grabbed to go with my jeans this morning. I tried to disentangle it in the dim light, not wanting to snag the jacket by pulling too hard. I was caught and I considered for a panicked moment just shrugging out of the jacket and going into the building, leaving it behind.

“Are you stuck? Here, let me,” he said, and leaned across the lush leather interior of the car to help me disentangle from my seat belt.

It took less than thirty seconds for his deft fingers to free my hem from the buckle. His gaze swept up to my face. “There you go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was right there, two inches from me, and his palm cupped my face. I felt him coming for me, parted my lips in disbelief, thinking only, yes, please.

His lips brushed over mine, restless and needy, just rubbing against my mouth in a way that made me hungrier, more frustrated. I parted my lips eagerly. Hamilton caught my bottom lip between his and tugged, giving me sexy nips and licks that had me panting and holding on to his shoulders.

I met him peck for peck, my teeth nipping his lip and clinging to him, when he parted my lips and swept his tongue inside and I breathed the word ‘yes’ into his mouth with a mixture of exhilaration and relief.

My heart pounded, my chest ached, and even my fingertips buzzed with the pleasure of his deep, devouring kiss. I was melting into him, his fingers sweeping down the line of my neck and giving me shivers. He brushed the backs of his fingers over the slope of my breast, and I sucked his tongue, tilting my head to give him better access. He stroked my mouth with his tongue, possessing me completely, and his too-light caress on my breast drove me wild. When his thumb finally brushed my throbbing nipple, I groaned and he plucked at it,

I rose up, arm going around his neck, and he grabbed my thigh, pulled me across his lap. I settled onto him, felt the rock-hard ridge of his erection between my legs. “Please,” I said into his mouth as his hands moved to my hips. “Come upstairs with me.”

He stopped. His roaming hands that had been coaxing pleasure from my humming, burning body froze. His mouth on mine ceased to devour and plunder. He pulled back. Confused, hurt, I slid my arms from his shoulders and climbed back across to the passenger side.

“I’m sorry. I swore I wouldn’t blur the lines with you again, that I wouldn’t lay one finger on you. I apologize.”

I couldn’t sit there and listen to him say how sorry he was. I threw the door open and hurried to my apartment without looking back to watch him drive away. I peeled off my clothes and got in the shower to calm myself down. I was so frustrated and aroused and a little embarrassed. I just wanted to wash away the last ten minutes of what had been a great day. Even when I shampooed my hair, my body wouldn’t stop remembering the way that kiss had felt, the teasing nips at my lip, the deep strokes of his tongue, the deft pinch of my nipple that made me see stars.

Before I knew it, I was pointing the handheld shower spray at my nipples, using the water at full force to mimic the sharp spikes of pleasure his fingers had given me. I leaned my forehead against the shower wall and unspooled what had happened in the car, rewrote it so it ended the way I wanted it to. He came up to my apartment with me, laid me down on my bed and spent hours making love to me—and I spun that fantasy shamelessly as I used my fingers and the showerhead to get myself off.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

CHAPTER 19

HAMILTON

Colin was eating the bananas and whipped cream off his pancakes, and I was waiting to see if he would eat the pancakes themselves. I took a drink of my coffee and admired his drawing on the paper placemat on the table.

“Nice robot,” I said. “He breathes fire?”

“Yeah, he’s part of a dragon. He boops and beeps but if you get him mad, he roars and does some fire breath.”

“That would be dangerous. What if he got mad and then fried somebody like a French fry?” I asked.

“They’re bad guys that made him mad so it’s okay.”

“I don’t think frying anybody’s a good idea, but maybe he could make a campfire and they could have s’mores,” I said.

“Daddy! You don’t make s’mores with bad guys!” he said, exasperated, and I laughed.

“Maybe if you did they wouldn’t stay bad. Maybe they’re just hangry like you get when you miss your snack.”

“I need more whip cream,” he declared.

“You had a ton!” I said, “have some pancakes now. You still have strawberries.”

“Can I have syrup?”

“Okay, a little to dip in,” I said, pouring him a tiny puddle of syrup on the side of his plate. Happily, he dunked his pancake bite in it and started munching.

---