Chapter 17 #3
“For this week, at least,” I remind him, my shoulders scrunching up into a shrug, and a frown that I’m powerless to stop turning down the corners of my mouth.
He leans down to kiss me, and my lips part willingly, almost desperately, as I lean into the kiss.
My fingers work at his belt and the button of his pants, then find his zipper.
I push them down his legs where they pool at his feet, so he kicks them off.
“I want you naked,” I tell him, and he pushes his underwear down and bends to remove them and his socks.
On his way back up to standing, he trails the pads of his fingertips up my legs, letting them lightly skim across my skin until I’m practically humming with need, then lets them drift under the hem of my dress.
He runs his fingers along my seam, and even through my underwear, I bet his fingers are damp.
“Someone’s excited,” he murmurs, and I don’t shrink away in embarrassment. “Why do you still have so many clothes on?”
“No one has taken them off me yet.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” he tells me, a primal glint in his eyes.
As he steps closer to me, I take a step back.
He steps closer again, eyes narrowed on my body like he’s stalking his prey—I’ve never felt so desired.
One more tiny step back and I’m against the glass, but when he reaches me, he spins me around to face the windows.
My hands come up against the glass, and they’re the only thing preventing me from full body contact with the floor-to-ceiling window.
I am breathing heavily, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scared of heights or because he’s brought his hand around to the front of me and is sliding it up to the apex of my thighs. Beau dips his head so my lips are against her ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here against this glass.”
I gasp and look at him over my shoulder. I’m pressed up against a full wall of windows, twenty-six stories above the still bustling streets of Vegas, and with other hotels around us. “Someone will see us.”
“In the dark? No, they won’t. But we’ll have this gorgeous view.
” He slips his finger inside my underwear, runs it through my folds until it’s covered in satiny fluid, then circles my clit a few times before he adds a second finger and delves into me.
I can’t control how responsive my body is to him as I arch my back and roll my hips so my ass caresses his erection.
With his free hand, he tugs at the zipper that runs along the back of my dress.
He gets it about halfway down before the bunched up fabric around my hips prevents it from going any further.
He swears, and I laugh, and then both of his hands are pulling the hem of my dress down and unzipping it the rest of the way.
He pushes it forward off my shoulders and as I pull it down my arms and toss it on the chair in the corner, I hear him suck in his breath.
I assume it’s because he’s seen my underwear.
I turn toward him, giving him the full frontal view of my sheer skin colored thong and my bra, which has layers of sheer fabric crisscrossing the cups and is held together by satin ribbon lacing it up the front.
He brings his mouth down to one breast and sucks my nipple into his mouth through the fabric, which has me leaning up on my toes, pushing more of my breast into his mouth.
He does the same to the other breast, and the rough feel of his tongue moving across the wet fabric has my entire core clenching in response.
I wrap one leg around his waist, thankful I’m still wearing my nude platform heels, so I’m tall enough for our bodies to meet in just the right place.
“Your lingerie is fucking hot,” he says, bringing his face back up to mine.
“But it’s in my way. I want to feel every inch of your skin.
” He hooks his thumbs over the straps of the underwear and slides them down my legs, and when I step out of them, he turns me around to face the windows again and unhooks my bra, gently drawing it down my arms and tossing it to the side by my dress.
I go to step out of my heels, but he tells me to leave them on.
His voice is rough, like he’s so turned-on he can hardly speak, and I have no idea how I’m here in this position with a guy like Beau—universally desired, hot as hell, and five years younger than me—but I plan on enjoying every second of it.
I reach behind me and grip him with my hand, stroking up and down his shaft, rolling my thumb over the tip of him every time I come to the top.
Suddenly he’s frenetic, one of his hands is working my breasts and the other is dipping between my legs again, and he’s whispering dirty promises in my ear—he has me almost ready to come just from the anticipation and the way he’s expertly stroking the inside of my walls with his talented fingers.
“I need you inside me,” I tell him, and I’m not sure I’ve ever needed anything more. I feel absolutely empty when his hand leaves me, but I glance behind me when I hear a foil packet rip open and I watch him roll the condom on.
I spread my legs a bit further as he steps up behind me, and he teases me by running the head of his cock along my folds and circling my clit. I push my hips back into him with a moan. “Now, Beau,” I insist.
“So demanding,” he murmurs. “I like that.”
He slides into me, inch by glorious inch, until I’m so full I lean forward and put my hands on the glass.
I’ve never had sex like this before, either in this position or in what feels like full view of other people, even though I’m sure he’s right that no one can see us with the lights off in our room.
Still, the thought of someone seeing us is its own kind of thrill.
He brings both his hands to my hips, pulling me to him each time he thrusts inside, and the push along those ridges of muscles followed by the delicious drag as he pulls out leaves me panting in a matter of minutes.
He brings one of his hands up and plants it above mine on the window so his chest cradles my back.
“You are amazing,” he says as he pulls out and slams into me again with a grunt. A new description follows every push into me. “A goddess. Spectacular.”
He goes on and on, and I want to tell him to be careful.
That words like that could lead a girl to believe this is more than just sex.
But we know the truth. We established the ground rules.
Sex is all this is, and all it can be. So instead, I close my eyes, enjoy his words for what they are—the yearning of a man in the throes of sex. Nothing more.
I find his hand where he holds my hip, lace my fingers into his, and drag his hand to my center. There, I bring his middle finger to my clit.
“No,” he says in my ear. “I’m not ready for this to be over.”
And then he’s pulling out of me, his absence leaving behind a gaping emptiness, and I have a momentary realization that this is what it will feel like when he leaves.
But I don’t have time to think about that, because he’s spinning me around and picking me up.
I lock my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck.
He holds me in place with one arm wrapped under my ass while the other braces against the steel frame between the two large panes of glass.
And then I’m lost in the moments of raw passion as he slides into me over and over, dragging himself along every single nerve ending that brings me pleasure until I’m panting and moaning and acting without inhibition or fear.
I’ve never felt so lost or so free, and his name is a reverent chant on my lips as I feel that pulsing begin, my muscles tightening around him, quaking with need and sensation.
I don’t know what I’m saying or doing, only that I need this so badly—this feeling of him inside me, around me, the way my body craves his—and then I’m coming so hard it takes my breath away, white hot pleasure shooting through me, stars behind my closed eyelids, and his name on my lips. Always his name on my lips.