Chapter 26
NAOMI
Naomi tries to remember how knees work as she jabs the elevator button.
The space is too small, the man beside her is too hot, and she’s one terrible joke away from combusting.
She was feeling brave in the truck with her cheeky comments and teasing arm grazes, but now that they’re here, she’s malfunctioning.
The doors slide closed, and her heart does an actual tap dance routine against her ribcage. Garrett stands beside her, all quiet bulk and unfair sexiness. He smells like cedar and fresh air, and she’s fairly certain she’ll never be normal again.
Naomi does what any normal woman would do in an emotionally charged, sexually tense scenario: she considers pulling the fire alarm just to escape.
“So,” she says brightly, “this is where you kill me, right?”
Garrett doesn’t even flinch. Just glances down at her with that maddeningly unreadable expression, all shadows and cheekbones.
She clears her throat. “Just asking. You’ve got the whole tall-dark-murdery vibe going, and I feel like I should let someone know before you cut me into little pieces in the hotel bathtub.”
His mouth twitches, the barest hint of amusement. “You think I’d wait this long?”
She shrugs, mouth dry. “I mean, if it’s a long con, I respect the commitment.”
Another pause.
She risks a glance up.
He’s still looking at her.
Not looking—watching.
Her palms are damp. Her legs? Questionable. Her brain? Offline.
God, she’s never been this twitchy. Not on dates, not in meetings, not even when she played the little orphan Annie in her middle school play.
“You’re nervous,” Garrett says, tilting his head, his voice almost curious.
She lets out a laugh that is way too high-pitched to be cool. “Of course I’m nervous. You’re—you. Don’t be smug just because your face looks like that.”
He steps closer, and she instinctively shuffles back, craning her neck to keep him in view.
Her spine bumps against cold metal.
When did the elevator wall get so close?
He doesn’t touch her. Not yet. He just looms—all heat and impossible height. Naomi’s rooted to the spot, like gravity has its own rules around him. When his eyes drop to her mouth, she forgets how to blink.
“You talk a lot when you’re nervous,” he says.
“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have the whole sexy-silent thing down.”
His hand lifts and brushes a strand oh hair off her cheek.
“I know how to shut you up,” he murmurs.
Then he leans down and kisses her.
It’s not soft. It’s not cautious. It’s full of want—hungry, deep, like he’s been holding back for weeks and the dam finally cracked. His mouth slants over hers, and she meets him head-on, arms winding around his neck without a second thought.
He groans into her mouth.
Her knees give the faintest tremble.
And when his tongue brushes hers, slow and filthy, all her deranged jokes and sarcastic quips pack their bags and flee.
The elevator jolts to a stop at her floor, and Garrett reluctantly breaks the kiss, both of them breathing hard. He gestures for her to go first, and Naomi grabs his hand tugging him down the hallway with single-minded urgency.
At her door, she fumbles in her purse for the keycard. He leans down, pressing his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. The low, satisfied sound he makes in the back of his throat vibrates straight through her. It pools heat low in her belly, and she instinctively tilts her head to give him more.
Yes, less of the silly talking. More of that.
When she finally gets the door open, they stumble inside together—and he’s on her immediately. Her back hits the wall with a soft thud, his body pinning her in place. One hand slides up to cradle her throat, firm but careful, while the other grips her waist.
He steps closer, pressing in until they’re flush—until her breasts burn under the heat of his chest. Every slight movement sends sparks racing across her skin, each brush of contact lighting her up.
Naomi fumbles for his coat, clutching the thick fabric before shoving it off his shoulders.
Heat blooms beneath her skin as she strips off her own.
Their mouths collide again, tongues tangling in a rhythm too hungry for thought.
Hands move on instinct—Garrett peeling her sweater over her head, then tugging off his own in one smooth motion that steals her breath.
Her gaze drops the moment his hoodie hits the floor.
His chest is all hard lines and ink, with a smattering of soft hair trailing down his stomach invitingly.
Her eyes track the sleeve curling up his left arm, layered with shadowy images that twist into one another, climbing his shoulder and bleeding up to his neck.
Not one piece, but many. He’s a living canvas, a work of art that moves.
Naomi’s mouth goes dry as her fingers trail along the ink etched into his bicep, following the sharp lines up to his shoulder, then higher—across the curve of his neck, where it disappears beneath his jaw.
He catches her eye and smirks in a lazy, maddening way that tells her he knows exactly what filth she’s thinking.
Oh, screw him, she thinks. If he wants to play. She’ll play.
She reaches behind her back and unclasps her black lace bra, shrugging it off and letting her breasts spill into the cool air.
Garrett stills, drinking her in, first staring at her flushed face then moving down.
Naomi can feel his stare as if it were his touch, caressing her throat, the curve of her collarbone, then pausing at her full breasts, pink nipples peaked with arousal, covered by the waves of her auburn hair.
When his eyes return to Naomi’s, he looks like a man undone.
“Like what you see?” she asks, her voice a husky version she’s never heard before.
“Very, very much,” he replies, dragging one large hand from her throat then lower, knuckles grazing the swell of one breast as he brushes her hair back. His other hand joins in the exploration, and he groans a deep, greedy sound at the back of his throat.
Dropping to his knees, he samples one breast with his tongue, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth, then nibbling on it gently.
Naomi threads her fingers through the soft waves of his hair, tugging and clutching fistfuls as Garrett worships her.
The last vestiges of her self-control keep her from making a sound save for a few whimpering moans, but she’s close to losing her ability to use her indoor voice.
He licks his way up her collarbone, neck and stands, pressing his hips to her stomach so she can feel his hardness straining against his jeans.
A wave of anxiety rolls over her—she’s only ever been with normal-sized guys. This feels like a logistical crisis.
Still, curiosity is stronger than common sense. She reaches down, dragging her palm up the length of him in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Oh. Dear. God.
Her hand stills, resting on what can only be described as a fully armed weapon of mass destruction. “Um,” she pants, voice breathy with a mix of awe and terror. “I’ve reconsidered. Let’s just be friends.”
Garrett only chuckles, low and knowing, brushing his lips against her ear.
“Too late for that,” he murmurs, grabbing her hand and plunging it into his waistband to wrap around his thick, throbbing cock.
Yup, this is the end. Death by cock. Her mother will be so proud.
He pins her to the wall with his hips, grinding his thick erection into her hand. With hot breath in her ear, he leans down, his voice a low, sensual purr. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”
Baby.
Naomi swoons, a rush of heat pooling between her thighs. Maybe this isn’t the worst way to go.
She’s melting, heart swelling, when he pulls her hand out of his boxers and spins her to face the wall.
His touch is firm, guiding her arms to stretch out in front of her, palms splayed, cheek resting against the surface.
The coolness of the wall contrasts with the heat of his body behind her, and the way he positions her sends a thrill down to her toes.
His hands caress her backside, each grabbing a handful and squeezing as he nips at her neck.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, tugging her trousers down to reveal the delicate lace of her thong.
Then, with a gentle nudge to her inner thigh, he parts her legs wider.
She stands there trembling, flushed and exposed, every inch of her lit up with anticipation.
A shiver shoots up her spine as he kneels and nips at her ass cheek before kissing and lightly sucking on an inner thigh. One large hand glides slowly up her back in soothing strokes, then lingers at the base of her spine, applying pressure to coax her into a soft, obedient arch.
Feeling bare and breathless, Naomi glances over her shoulder—only to catch Garrett watching her with that wicked, satisfied grin as he slowly slides her thong down her thighs, before burying his face between her cheeks.
“Holy fuck,” she shrieks, arching back into the sweet, sinful pressure of his lips and tongue. Naomi thought he might tease her, make her beg, just because he knew how nervous she was. Instead, he devours.
The air leaves her lungs as he draws hard on her clit, wringing a cry from deep within her. Spots blur her vision as she presses her cheek against the wall, her legs trembling.
Fingers trail up the curve of her knee, gliding along the slickness coating her inner thigh, his other hand firm on her back—pinning her there, holding her exactly where he wants her, unable to move, entirely at his mercy.
When he finds her most sensitive spot, flattening his tongue and brushing it there over and over, Naomi feels a shock of pleasure so intense that his name is ripped from her lips.
“Fuck, Garrett,” she cries, her hips writhing.
“Say it again, when you come for me,” he growls.
She gives him exactly what he asked for, moaning his name again and again as she shatters. Sparks explode behind her eyes, and her voice is ragged and lost as wave after wave of pleasure crash through her.
Naomi’s still clinging to the wallpaper, breathless, legs trembling like jelly, when he rises and spins her back around, claiming her mouth in a feral, breath-stealing kiss.
Sensing how unsteady she is, his strong arms curl beneath her to lift and carry her to the bed, tossing her down with a gentle bounce.
“I think you’re ready,” he murmurs, eyes dark with promise. His forearms flex, and his fingers make quick work of his belt and jeans, sliding them down muscled thighs.
“Define ready,” she pants, sprawled on the bed. “Because I think I just forgot my own name. I only know yours now.”
“Good,” he grins, then in one swift motion he tugs his boxers down, erection springing free.
Any last shred of self-preservation within Naomi vanishes. All she can feel is the aching, primal need to have him in her mouth. Immediately.
She crawls to the edge of the bed, a woman possessed, rising to her knees as her lips find his chest, then trail lower—across the hard lines of his stomach, down to the sharp dip where his hipbone meets his thigh, tasting every inch like it’s hers.
He sucks in a sharp breath as she leans forward and licks him like the world’s porniest ice cream cone—each swirl teasing and filthy. She lingers at the tip, circling the bead of moisture there with a flick of her tongue, savoring it like a promise.
“Christ, Naomi,” he groans.
Humming in approval, she takes him into her mouth, sliding her lips down his length torturously slow. When she takes him in as deep as she can—tragically not as far as she’d hoped—she hollows her cheeks and sucks hard, drawing a sharp, guttural groan from Garrett as his hips jolt in response.
Naomi smirks around him, a quiet thrill of victory sparking through her as his hands shoot to the back of her head, fingers fisting her hair.
He urges her on, moving her head in a rhythm he likes.
Her hands reach around his thighs and grasp his firm ass, pushing him deeper into her mouth, which earns her a stream of panting curses.
“Fuck,” he grits out, jaw tight. Naomi glances up through her lashes and finds his blue eyes storm-dark and untethered—a man completely, deliciously undone.
“Baby, I need you,” he groans. His hands release her hair and stroke her cheeks, drawing her up towards his face. His kiss is searing, desperate.
“Fuck me like I’m yours,” she breathes, the words barely out before he abandons all restraint.
Garrett lunges forward with a low, guttural sound that sends a thrill straight through her, all control abandoned.
She doesn’t remember falling back, but suddenly she’s under him, surrounded by him, his breath hot against her skin, his touch wild and claiming.
Her thoughts blur like breath fogging glass.
There’s no going back. She asked for this. And God, she wants all of it.