11. Bianca
BIANCA
His mouth is on mine before my back touches the hallway wall. I don’t remember how we got out of the kitchen, but that doesn’t matter. My legs are around his hips, and he is walking me across my apartment with his tongue in my mouth and his hands under my thighs. That’s all that matters.
He presses my back against my closed bedroom door.
“You taste like wine.” His breath is warm against my skin.
I roll my hips against his groin. “You taste like trouble.”
His grin spreads against my mouth. He bites my bottom lip, drags it through his teeth, and lets it go slow enough that I can’t stop from moaning.
He has me pinned by his hips. His hands are roaming everywhere. The man does not have a still bone in his body.
“Which door?”
I bump my head back against the door he has me pinned to.
He twists the handle behind me while still holding me up.
I’m impressed.
Then he kicks the door open with his foot. He walks me into my bedroom like he has been here a hundred times before.
When he drops me on the bed, I bounce. My hair fans out across the duvet. He stands at the foot of the mattress and looks down at me with both hands going to the hem of his shirt, and the look on his face is somewhere between starving and stupidly pleased.
He pulls his shirt over his head one-handed and drops it on my floor.
Oh. That’s a muscular chest.
Tattoos crawl up his ribs and over his collarbone in lines I cannot read from here. There’s a small tattoo over his heart. Another wrapping his bicep. A line of script across the inside of his forearm that makes me want to grab his wrist and ask.
“You’re staring, Bianca.” He drops his hands to the button of his jeans.
I don’t look away. “Yep.”
He plants one knee on the mattress. The duvet dips under his weight.
“Come here.” I crook a finger at him. It’s supposed to be sultry, I’ve seen it in movies, and I’m almost positive I did it correctly.
He climbs the rest of the way up the bed, plants a hand on each side of my hips, and lowers himself until his face is an inch from mine. His hair falls into his eyes.
“You are adorable.”
I shove at his chest. “Don’t call me adorable. I’m seducing you.”
“Yeah?” His grin curves against my mouth. “How’s that going?”
I wrap my legs around his hips and tug him closer. “Well, you’re in my bed, aren’t you? Either I’m quite the seductress, or you’re not as picky as the magazines say.”
He drops his face into the crook of my neck and laughs. The laugh trails off against my skin. His mouth stays where it is.
He kisses my throat. He kisses the hollow of my collarbone. He drags his teeth along the strap of my bra through my sweater and tugs the sweater up an inch with his teeth, his cocky grin tilted up at me the whole time.
I run my fingers through his hair. “Show-off.”
He drops the sweater hem and chuckles up at me from my sternum. “I have not even started showing off. Stick around.”
“Stick around? Where am I going to go? I live here.” My fingers tighten in his hair.
“Convenient for both of us.”
His hand slides under my sweater. His palm is hot. He spreads his fingers across my stomach, and I arch up into his touch.
“I knew you were into me, but goddamn, baby.” His thumb sweeps the underside of my ribs.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Don’t get cocky.”
He drags his teeth along my pulse point. “Have you met me?”
He tugs my sweater up. I sit up enough to let him pull it over my head, and he flings it somewhere over his shoulder with a flick of the wrist that is so smug I have to bite back a giggle.
And the second I’m back down on the duvet, his focus goes somewhere different.
He pops the button on my jeans, drags them down my legs, and tosses them.
He sits back on his heels between my legs and looks at me in my striped underwear and my favorite plain bra.
Then he drops over me and kisses me. His chest presses against mine.
The kiss is slow this time. His tongue strokes mine as his thumb traces my jaw. His hips press down once, and I’m suddenly very aware of how hard he already is through his jeans, pressed against the inside of my thigh.
I gasp into his mouth.
He grins into mine. “That one’s for you.”
I drag my nails down his back. “Subtle.”
He rolls his hips against me again, slower this time. “Wasn’t trying to be.”
His hand goes to my hip. He flattens his palm against the dip of it, drags his thumb under the elastic of my underwear. A shiver runs from my hip up into my chest, and out of my throat in a sound I would die for him not to have heard.
He absolutely heard it.
He props himself on one elbow to look at me. “Bianca.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Don’t.”
He pries one hand away from my face. “Don’t what?”
I close my eyes. “Don’t comment on it.”
“On what?” He drags his thumb under my waistband again. I shiver again, and he kisses the shell of my ear. “Baby, that noise went straight to my cock. Do it again.”
I cover my face with my free hand. He pulls it away and kisses my palm.
He sits up between my legs again. “I need you to get more comfortable with your body.”
He looks across the room and then points. “That mirror.”
I twist around to look. The full-length mirror on the inside of my closet door. The angle is bad. I have been meaning to take it down for a year.
I turn back to him, eyebrow up. “What about it?”
He’s already off the bed.
He crosses to the closet, lifts the mirror off the hook, carries it back, and sets it on the floor at the foot of the bed. He leans it against my dresser. He adjusts the angle. He steps back, checks the line of sight, nudges it a quarter-inch left with his bare foot, and nods.
Then he turns around and grins at me from the foot of the bed. “Sit up.”
I don’t move. “Why?”
He holds out a hand to me. “Trust me.”
I cross my legs at the ankle. “That’s not an answer.”
“Really? Sit up.”
I sit up. He climbs back onto the bed behind me.
He arranges me. He moves my hair off my shoulder with one hand, drags my back flush against his chest, and settles my legs over his thighs so that I am sitting in his lap, facing the mirror, framed by the long line of him.
His chin rests on my shoulder. His grin is right there next to my ear in the glass.
His hand splays low across my stomach. “There. Look.”
I look.
My cheeks are flushed, and my hair is mussed. Ander’s grin is feral. His hand is splayed across my stomach.
Oh. That is doing something to me.
His mouth is at my ear, a grin in his voice. “Yeah. There it is. You see yourself?”
I press back against his chest.
He kisses below my ear. “Look how pretty, baby.”
His hand on my stomach moves. Slow. Up over my ribs. Across the swell of my bra. He cups my breast through the fabric, and the heat of his palm soaks through. His hand is on me in the mirror, and I forget to breathe.
He squeezes lightly. “That’s nice. Yeah?”
I nod against his shoulder.
His thumb drags across the lace edge of my bra cup. “Use your words, baby.”
I drop my head back against him. “It’s nice.”
He hums into my hair. “What’s nice?”
I cover his hand on my breast with mine. “Your hand. On me. Touching me.”
He nips my throat. “There we go. Was that hard?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yes.”
His mouth opens on the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
His teeth scrape. His tongue follows. He sucks, hard enough that I gasp, and light enough that I won’t have a mark in the morning.
And his hand slides under the cup of my bra, his thumb passes once across my nipple, and the gasp turns into his name.
His smirk in the mirror is filthy. “Say my name like that when I’m fucking you.”
I push my hips back against him. “Are you going to fuck me?”
He pinches my nipple lightly between two fingers. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget every man who came before me.”
Unhooking my bra one-handed, he slides it down my arms and tosses it on the floor. Both of his hands come up to cup me, skin on skin now.
He presses his hips up against the base of my spine, enough to remind me he is hard behind me.
His thumbs sweep my nipples. Slow circles, until they tighten under his hands. He pinches lightly. I jerk in his lap.
He pinches again, harder. “Your tits are so fucking sensitive.”
I groan and tip my head back against his shoulder. “Don’t say tits.”
He kisses my temple. “Boobs.”
I groan louder. “Worse.”
He grins against my hair. “Breasts.”
I swat blindly at his thigh behind me. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He catches my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Knockers.”
His hands have not stopped moving the whole time. And even though I’m laughing, and he’s laughing, I’m absolutely turned on at the same time.
His hand drifts south. Across my ribs. Over the dip of my waist. Onto my stomach. Slow. Watching me watch him in the mirror.
His fingers trace the edge of my striped waistband. “Eyes on the glass, sweetheart.”
I drag my gaze back to our reflection. “They are.”
He dips one finger under the elastic. “Keep them there.”
His fingers slide further under the waistband of my striped underwear. The pad of his middle finger dips lower. He stops. He waits. He catches my reflection in the mirror, and his grin tips into something quieter and hungrier all at once.
“Tell me I can.”
I rock my hips forward against his hand. “You can.”
He keeps his hand still. “Tell me what I’m allowed to do.”
I cover his hand with mine and press it lower. “Touch me, Ander.”
He hooks his fingers in the striped waistband of my underwear, and he drags them down. I help him remove them the rest of the way and kick them off.
The cool air hits me first. Then I see myself in the glass. My thighs are spread wide across his lap. My center is pink, swollen, and shining, completely on display.
My face goes hot, but I don’t look away.
His finger slides through me. “Look at that pretty pink pussy, baby. All of it on display for me.”