Chapter Thirty-Two
Lennon
I set Amiya on her heels, grab her hand, and walk us across the street to the Bayview Inn.
“Slow down, Sailor,” she says as she shuffles to keep up with me.
I lead her to the room number printed on the key card Anson gave me and let us in.
Once inside, I kick the door shut and advance on her.
She dodges me, ducking under my arm.
“Uh-uh-uh. Hands off, Sailor. No touching the talent.”
I drop my hands and stare at her. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire.
She plants her hand on my chest and pushes, backing me toward the small couch that sits between the window and the bed.
She guides me to where she wants me. I sink into the cushion, hook my arms over the back, and try to look casual and relaxed when every muscle in my body is buzzing.
“Don’t move,” she whispers in my ear.
I watch as she walks across the room, lowering the blinds and tugging the curtains closed. Shutting us off from the rest of the world. The only light is a soft amber glow from a corner floor lamp.
She finds her phone in her small black purse. Tapping the screen until low, sultry music fills the room, she props it on the bedside table.
She walks to the full-length mirror on the wall beside the bathroom door, and her eyes find mine in the reflection. She smirks as she reaches and drags the zipper down on her dress, revealing the smooth skin of her back. She shimmies, and lacy material slides to her hips at an achingly slow pace, revealing her body inch by inch. Turning, she hooks the material with the tip of her stiletto and kicks. It lands on my lap and then flutters to the floor at my feet.
I can’t help but smile even though my pulse is thundering in my ears.
She bites her bottom lip, eyes flashing with something dangerous and playful. Her hands slowly glide down her sides, and I swear I forget how to breathe for a second.
She starts moving to the music, raising her arms above her head, twisting her hips, and shaking her ass in a measured, seductive rhythm until she turns to face me.
“Remember,” she says, her voice low and sensual, “you can look, but you can’t touch.”
Arching her back, she reaches behind and unclasps her bra. The straps drop down her arms, revealing her creamy breasts. She catches it, twirls it around her finger, and slings it in my face.
Growing impatient, I growl, “Come here, Amiya.”
Her eyes spark at the command, and she drops to her knees and crawls to my feet. Her limbs shake with vulnerability as her head comes up, and she licks her lips.
“Here,” I demand, pointing to my lap.
She pauses for a second, but her desire overrules the hesitation as we lock eyes, and she stands between my legs.
She has my rapt attention as she takes a step closer, then another, until her knees brush against mine. My hands are clutching the back of the couch, gripping the fabric like a vise. Her scent, sweet and warm, fills my lungs as she leans forward, and I’m drowning in it.
She slides her hands onto my shoulders, her grip light at first, then firmer as she presses down, straddling my lap. I feel the weight of her settle against me, and my breath catches. The heat of her body sparks every nerve to life. Her knees dig into the couch on either side of me, and I instinctively place my hands on her hips, feeling the soft curve of her beneath my fingers.
“You have a hard time following orders, don’t you, Sailor?”
“I’m used to giving them, not following them,” I say as I bring my lips to her neck.
“Behave,” she murmurs.
She starts to sway, a leisure, hypnotic rhythm, her hips rolling in time with the music, and I’m completely at her mercy. Every movement is deliberate. Her goal is to drive me crazy, and it’s working. I can feel the tension coiling in my gut, the heat spreading through my veins as she presses against me.
I swallow hard, focusing on the way her body feels against mine, the way she moves with such confidence, like she owns me. And maybe, in this moment, she does.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes glittering with mischief. Her lips curve into a wicked smile as she rolls her hips again, a little harder this time, a little slower. The friction is maddening, sending jolts of pleasure through me that makes it impossible for me to sit still. My hands tighten on her hips, pulling her closer, needing more of that connection.
Amiya’s hands slide up from my shoulders to the back of my neck, her fingers playing with the short hair there, sending shivers down my spine.
She leans in close, her breath hot against my ear. “If you let your hair grow out, does it curl at the ends, like Sebastian’s?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve never let it get longer than my ears before. Why? Do you have a thing for my brother’s hair?”
She reaches up and runs her fingers through the strands that fall to the nape of my neck. “No. I just thought it might be fun to be able to fist it the way you do mine and hold on while I ride your face.”
I reach into her hair and grab a fistful, just like she described. I tug her head back.
“The shit that comes out of your mouth,” I growl.
“Not nearly as good as what comes in my mouth,” she purrs.
The comment flips a switch, and now, I’m not just watching her anymore. I’m part of this, part of whatever game she’s playing.
My hands move on their own, tracing the curve of her waist, teasing the hem of her panties. Her skin is warm and smooth, and I want to touch every inch of it. She arches her back, pressing closer to me, and I can feel her heartbeat racing in time with mine. It’s intoxicating, the way we’re connected, the way we’re feeding off each other’s energy.
She tilts her head back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I can’t help but lean in, pressing my lips to the pulse point just beneath her jaw. She moans quietly, a sound that vibrates through me, making my whole body tense with need. I want to hear that sound again, louder this time, more desperate.
Amiya’s hands flit down my chest, her nails scraping lightly across the fabric of my shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She’s teasing me, taunting me, and it’s driving me insane. I want to flip her over, pin her to the couch, and show her exactly what she’s doing to me. But I hold back. This is her dance, and I’m more than happy to be her audience.
She grinds down harder, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes my throat. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough. I want more—need more.
“Patience,” she whispers, her voice a low, tantalizing drawl that makes my blood burn. “I’m not done with you yet.”
God, she’s killing me. Every second feels like an eternity, every movement a deliberate act of torture designed to unravel me. And it’s working. I’m coming apart at the seams, and all I can do is hold on, praying that she doesn’t stop.
She shifts again, pressing down harder, and I feel a shudder run through me. I’m so close to losing control, and I have to force myself to stay still.
The women in the club tonight, with their choreographed dances and seductive words, couldn’t hold a candle to this woman.
Her breath is coming faster now, her motions a little less controlled, a little more frantic. She’s getting caught up in it, too, and that thought sends a thrill through me. This overwhelming need, this desire, is threatening to consume us both.
She leans down again, her lips capturing mine in a kiss. It’s all heat and urgency, a clash of tongues and teeth, and I lose myself in it, in her. My hands roam her body, and I pull her closer, needing to feel her, all of her.
And then she pulls back, her chest heaving, her eyes dark with lust. “Lennon,” she breathes, my name a plea on her lips, and I know that whatever comes next, we’re both about to lose control.
“Yes, Legs?”
“I need you to fuck me now.”
At her request, I immediately stand, taking her with me. “Yes, ma’am.”