Chapter 30 #3
Embarrassment washes over me. I’ve had a million fantasies of this moment, and I can’t say a single one of them out loud. “Anything.”
The mattress dips on either side of me as his hands press into it.
He leans over me with another drugging kiss.
In a blink I’m on my back, scrambling on my heels as the mattress dips again under his knees.
A steady hand runs up under my dress and wraps around my hip bone, a thumb brushing over lace.
Before he exposes another inch of me, I’m greedy to see him.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, but he makes quick work of it, grabbing the back of his collar and dragging the shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
If this were a different sort of moment, I’d trail my fingertips along the contours of his stomach, savoring every inch of him, pressing a kiss everywhere my palms touched.
But time is short, and our patience is gone, and every lick and touch and graze of teeth is a frenzy.
His mouth traces a line of kisses down to my collarbone while I struggle to remember how to breathe, my fingernails scraping across his shoulder blades while he curses into my skin, so soft I almost don’t hear it.
After an agonizing stretch of time, he runs his fingers under the strap of my dress and lets them linger, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my skin where his teeth just were.
He looks up at me with hazy eyes. I nod, and he slips the dress down my torso.
I lift my hips as he pulls it off. When he looks at me in just a bra and underwear, the furor slows.
“Mars—” His voice is raw, barely stitched together with awe and longing.
“I know,” I agree on a rasp. I’m not sure what I’m agreeing with, because his fingers are tracing slowly over my bra and across my soft stomach, stopping when they meet lace again.
He dips one finger under the fabric and brushes lightly.
My breath stutters as my eyes fall shut, preparing for sensory overload.
His hand retreats as he laughs softly. It retraces its path back over my stomach and up to my chest, where he slowly rubs his finger over my nipple.
Then he lowers his mouth and pulls me in, his tongue flicking against fabric.
I’m hit with a rush of endorphins, a heavy downpour in my veins.
I press my knees into West’s side and bring his mouth back to mine.
I feel like I’m out of my mind. I can’t move fast enough, can’t touch him everywhere at once, can’t stay still, can’t stop myself from arching into him.
I do, and it doesn’t offer enough friction.
I hook my fingers into his belt loop and pull him down until his full weight collapses on top of me.
“I need you to touch me,” I gasp, starting to feel lightheaded.
His mouth moves to my neck, his tongue relentless as he gently bites then licks the sensitive spot below my ear.
His hand squeezes my breast as I suck in air, trying to clear my head.
He rolls his hips against mine, his cock dragging over my clit, and we both moan.
“West,” I whine, grinding my hips harder.
“Patience.” He playfully admonishes me with a nip of teeth on my collarbone, then shifts his weight to one forearm.
Just when I think I might actually beg, he finally tugs my underwear to the side.
I press my forehead to his shoulder as my knees fall open.
I’m soaked, and I know the exact moment he feels it, because his mouth curves into a wicked smile.
“Already, Darling?” He brushes a featherlight finger over me, gathering moisture before circling my clit.
I inhale through my nose and sink my fingernails into his arms to stop myself from coming too quickly.
“West—” I nudge his shoulder up. He looks at me with dark, drugged eyes. “Do you have a condom?”
“I can get one.”
I check the clock and groan. “I have to leave for the airport soon.”
He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat and circles my clit again. “There are things we can do without a condom.”
A door slams downstairs. “Emerson! Now!” West and I freeze. “Emerson!” Tristan roars.
West grits his teeth and rolls onto his back. “I’ll tell him to shut up.”
I pull my dress back over my head, combing my hair with shaky fingers as my breathing slowly evens out. “I’m flying to London tonight.”
“Emerson!” Petra’s footsteps patter up the stairs.
I push up to my knees and lean into West for a last kiss. “Where will you be after London?” he asks as I pull back.
Petra knocks on the door. “Emerson, the reporter from the Times is here. You coming or not?”
“New York.”
West rakes his fingers through my hair and holds the back of my head steady as he kisses me again. “You’ll be in New York, and I’ll be in New York.”
“Looks that way.”
“Emerson?” Petra yells.
“I’ll call,” West promises, and I know he’s committing to more than a phone call. When we’re both in New York, he wants to try again. He wants to be together.
I don’t have a single reason not to believe him.