CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Gizmo
S he’s laughing. The sound is throaty and pure seduction as her fingers lace with mine, and we move quickly, dodging people as we search for somewhere to have our own little party.
I tug her into the elevator, punch the button, and the doors slide shut with an agonizing slowness. Her breath catches when I press her up against the wall, pinning her there with my body. My lips are on hers in an instant, her kiss tasting like sparks begging to ignite, as her fingers tangle in my hair and pull me closer.
She tastes like mint and want and Hendrix, and I don’t know how I’ll ever want anything else.
“Upstairs. There has to be somewhere upstairs to go.”
“There’s always this elevator.” She nips my bottom lip and tugs on it.
“You’re crazy,” I murmur against her mouth. And I fucking love this side of her. Brazen. Daring. Asking for what she wants.
“I’m serious,” she whispers, and it’s all I can do not to rip that damn dress off right here.
The elevator dings and we stumble into the hallway. A quick glance around shows me a women’s lounge and I grab her hand, practically pulling her there.
“If anybody’s in here, I suggest you go out!” I yell and am greeted with the glorious sound of silence. No sooner do I lock the fucking door behind us and my lips are on hers again.
My hands pull up the hem of this stunning purple dress.
My fingertips skim over the lace beneath that drives me fucking insane.
Then from one beat to another, we’re a blur of limbs and heat. Of want laced with greed and desperation edged with need.
“I need you in me, Jase.” Another kiss as her hands undo my pants and pull my cock out in an act of much-appreciated desperation. “Right here.” She bends over and braces her hands on the vanity, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the mirror in front of her. “Right now.”
I stroke a hand up and down my cock as I take in the sight before me. Hendrix bent over, the globes of her ass bare, and her pussy dripping with arousal. Begging for me to fill it. To own it. To claim it.
“I want you to watch me while I come,” she murmurs. “I want you to walk back into that ballroom after this, to be in that room with everyone, and know I can still feel you inside of me.”
“Fucking hell, Hendrix.”
“Fuck me, Jase.”
I crash into her, the sensation almost as blinding as her words. It’s a rhythm with no grace, all hunger that drowns us both. Her fingers grip the edge of the vanity like it’s the only thing tethering her to this moment, to this world, and I’m lost in the pulse of wanting her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
The frantic sound of skin on skin echoes around us, blending with the ragged sounds of our breaths. It’s raw and real and hot as fuck. And I lose myself again and again to the feel of her. To the scent of her. To knowing she’s fucking mine for as long as I want to have her.
She pushes back against me with every thrust, a silent demand that pulls me closer and closer to the edge.
“Harder,” she gasps, her voice wavering with want.
I reach around and find her clit, slick and swollen and begging for attention. The first stroke has her shuddering beneath my hand, her moan raw and ragged and full of need that kicks me into overdrive.
“Like that?”
The mirror shows her face—the pleasure etched in every line of it—and makes me want to give her more. To take more.
“More,” she pants out, urging me to trail a hand up her back and tangle it in her hair. She gasps as I pull it, because it only serves to seat me deeper in the process.
“Yes,” she cries out, her voice breaking around another moan. My fingers work her clit in the rhythm of our bodies, faster and harder, until she’s trembling beneath my hands. “Just like that.”
She comes undone all around me. Her body arches as I watch her reflection. She’s wild and stunning and everything I never wanted but can’t seem to step away from now.
The sight of her shattered like this and by my hand sends me right over the edge with her.
“ Fuck. Yes .” It’s a half-growl, half-shout, seconds before my world goes black, then white, as consuming pleasure blazes through me and leaves me wanting more. Of her. Of this.
Always more.
We stay like that for a moment—her lips parted, eyes shut tight, skin flushed—while I feel like I’ve just been to battle and come out victorious on the other side.
My pants are still around my ankles and her dress is still up over her hips when I slip out of her and sigh. She turns to face me, and the disheveled look in her hazel eyes makes me want to take her all over again.
She straightens her dress, and fuck, if that isn’t an image that will fuel my fantasies for years. Lips swollen, hair wild, cheeks flushed.
“Guess we need to figure out how to celebrate this kind of first, huh?” Then she throws her head back and laughs.