Chapter 1 #2
"You have no idea. Half of them think they're God's gift to business or guarding heaven's gates, and the other half actually believe their own press releases.
" She takes another sip, and I watch the way her throat moves when she swallows, ignoring the urge to drag my tongue along the smooth skin.
"Present company excluded, obviously. You seem relatively down to earth for someone who 'runs things. '"
"Relatively down to earth. High praise. I will have that written on my tombstone."
"Don't let it go to your head."
She's closer now. I don't know when that happened, but her elbow is resting on the bar and her body is angled toward mine.
If I shifted six inches to the left, I could press my mouth to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, maybe suck the skin and leave marks.
Or maybe I could trail kisses along her jaw.
Fuck.
My eyes linger on the pulse of her throat up to the column and finally her full lips. Thoughts of her naked and writhing buzz in my skull. I want nothing more than to imprint her taste on my brain.
"You're staring again," she says quietly.
"Sorry."
"I didn't say I minded."
The air between us thickens, the words loaded with about fifty different meanings. Her eyes drop to my mouth for just a second—so quick I might have imagined it—before meeting mine again.
The floor under my feet is gone, and I'm sliding through it, with nothing to break my fall. A magnetic current keeps slithering and swirling through my system.
"Vivian." My voice drops an octave.
"Yeah?"
I should ask her about the weather. About her job. About anything that doesn't involve getting her out of that dress or burying my cock in her depths. Instead, I lean forward until there's maybe three inches between us. So fucking close her scent envelops me.
"My room's upstairs. I can take your mind off work."
Vivian doesn't answer immediately, but I can practically see the gears turning in her head. She chews on her bottom lip, and without thinking, I tug it free before running my thumb along its pillowy softness.
She sucks in a sharp breath as I drop my hand on her thigh.
"This is not something I do," she whispers.
"What's that?"
"Go to hotel rooms with strange men I just met. I don't even know if you have a wife."
I lift both hands to show her no ring. "No, I don't. Not even a girlfriend."
"Doesn't make you less of a strange man." Her eyes suddenly widen with intent. "Probably even qualifies you as a strange man."
"True, but I don't like pineapples on pizza."
"Points in your favor."
"And if you so much as touch the duvet with your heels, I'm calling the cops."
"Oh, well, in that case." Vivian slides off her barstool and holds my gaze. "Lead the way."
The elevator ride is silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the sound of our breathing. She stands close enough that I can count the smattering of freckles across her nose. But when she turns to face me, a full foot shorter than me even in heels, I realize I'm done for.
I skim her bare arm with my knuckle, and Vivian responds by brushing the back of her hand against my erection.
My nostrils flare as I grit my teeth, knowing full well my self-control is hanging by a thread. So is my sanity.
When the doors open on the fourteenth floor, I have to concentrate on walking in a straight line and remembering which room is mine.
My key card beeps against the reader, and my room door opens at the slightest touch. She stops just past the threshold, looking around at the generic corporate luxury—king bed, leather chair, small fridge, and massive windows overlooking the city lights.
"Nice view," she says.
"I wasn't planning on looking at that view."
Vivian whirls to face me and casually steps out of her heels. "What were you planning on looking at?"
Instead of answering, I close the distance between us. My hand finds the curve of her waist, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she rests both palms on my chest.
She tips her head back to look at me and stands on her toes.
"You sure about this?" I ask.
"Are you?"
"I stopped being sure about anything the minute you sat down next to me."
She laughs, soft and breathless. "Good answer."
The kiss sets my whole body on fire. Thirty minutes of raw, pent-up need explodes the second our mouths crash together, no preamble, no restraint.
Vivian's lips part under mine with the same frantic hunger, and the little whimper she makes vibrates straight down my spine, wrapping tight around my already aching cock.
It throbs against the rigid zipper of my dress pants, leaking at the tip.
My hands move greedily, mapping every inch through that thin dress. The flare of her hips under my palms, the narrow dip of her waist, the heavy softness of her tits crushing against my chest, the delicious globes that fit perfectly in my palms.
She's burning up, responsive as hell, arching into every touch. When I pull back just enough to drag in air, she chases my mouth immediately, tongue sliding against mine, teeth nipping at my lower lip.
Fucking hell.
Vivian doesn't want space. Neither do I.
"Jesus," I growl against her swollen lips.
"Just Vivian."
Her fingers attack my shirt buttons, yanking fabric apart until she can shove it off my shoulders. She skates her palms over my chest, nails scraping down my abs, tracing the lines of muscle. Every touch leaves fire in its wake.
The zipper on her dress is a slow torture I inflict on both of us.
I draw it down inch by inch, watching her face the whole time.
Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed dark.
When the fabric peels away and I realize she's not wearing a bra—that she's been sitting inches from me all night with nothing but silk between my eyes and her bare nipples—my mind just blanks.
"Fuck, Vivian."
The dress puddles at her feet. She stands there in nothing but a scrap of lace underwear, all soft curves and flushed skin. The slight give of her belly, the faint stretch marks on her hips, the way her nipples have tightened into hard peaks from nothing but my stare.
Jesus Christ. How can someone look this beautiful?
Vivian's hands drop to my belt, fingers brushing the bulge straining against my fly. The contact jolts through me so hard I snag her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly.
"Slow down," I growl, barely recognizing my own voice. "We've got time."
Her eyes flicker with something vulnerable, a quick flash of uncertainty. "Do we?"
I don't answer with words. Instead I lift her, hands cupping the lush curve of her ass, and drop her onto the bed.
The mattress dips under our combined weight as I follow her down, covering her completely.
Skin to skin now, except for that last bit of lace and my undone pants.
Her nipples scrape against my chest, sending sparks straight to my cock.
"We've got all night," I say against the shell of her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. The full-body shiver that rolls through her, the way her thighs instinctively part to cradle my hips...
She's as hungry as I am.
I take my time because I'm greedy. I want to feel every reaction.
My mouth finds the flutter of her pulse at her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a faint mark. It will take days to fade, and that thought gives me some twisted satisfaction.
Vivian arches with a gasp when I hit the spot on her neck, her fingers twisting tight in my hair. I chuckle darkly and trail lower.
Her tits fill my hands perfectly, soft and heavy, and when I close my lips around one tight nipple and drag my teeth over it, she exhales a low, broken, rasping sound. Neediness.
"Matthew—"