His fingertips brush my neck as he wraps his hands around my jacket and pulls it off my shoulders. He lays it on the counter besides his like it belongs there.
His hands graze down my sides to my hips before he tucks my hair behind my ear. His lips brush against the side of my face as he murmurs, “I probably should be a good host and offer you something to eat or drink, but I need you, Stormy. All I need is you.”
I turn to him, unable to resist his pull.
He kisses me delicately, tasting of salt and liquor. He kisses me as though he is trying his best to memorize the feel of my mouth. I wrap one hand around his waist as my other presses flat so I can feel his heartbeat, steady but fast.
He deepens the kiss, his lips gently nudging mine apart so his tongue laves over mine. He groans into my mouth, his hands warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
I want more. I want all of him. It would be so easy to give in right now and let him chase away my worries. He tugs on my dress, and I raise my arms willingly. He lifts it over my head and drops it to the floor. His hands ignite my bare skin, but I target his shirt, and he lets me raise it. It falls, a ball of warm fabric onto the tile.
My heart batters inside my chest like a stampeding bull as my fingers trace the hard muscles of his abdomen and dance upward over the indention in the center of his chest, to his pectorals. We are standing so close I can see my breasts quivering against the lavender lace of my bra.
I am shaking. Goosebumps pepper my skin, and my breath catches, lodged in my throat. He is so perfect. Tan and tall and absolutely, devastatingly perfect. Warmth pools between my legs.
It takes everything I have, but I lift my gaze to his and watch as something breaks behind his eyes. His hands tremble before his lips and body crash against mine. He walks me back, knocking us into the sofa—which makes us both groan—and then into the wall before we finally reach his bedroom.
He breaks us apart.
“Fuck,” he growls.
He puts his hands on my shoulders and tips me back onto his bed. I land, cradled by soft silk sheets and the scent of him.
My heart ricochets, bouncing against my ribs. He kneels over me to pepper kisses over my mouth and my cheeks, down my throat, over the swell of my breasts, and over my belly button until his hands reach the silk lip of my panties.
He hooks his thumbs on either side, and I lift my hips on instinct. His gaze never leaves mine as he lowers my panties until he disappears below my line of sight. My shoes come off next. My gaze rolls around the room, taking in cream-colored walls, the dark curtains, the dark bed on which I lay.
“Hey,” Ian says, drawing my attention back to him with the snap of his fingers. “None of that. I want you here with me for everything, not getting lost in your head.”
I am completely exposed from the waist down as he stands there in his dark jeans and boots. My heart stumbles as he lowers his gaze to me, his gray eyes dilated to black. His hands skim up my knees to my thighs and spread me wider, his touch like the grit of ultra-fine sandpaper.
He bites his lip until the spot of skin he clinches is white like his teeth, and it takes him a long moment before he says, “So damn beautiful.”
He crawls on top of me, and the pounding of my heart is so loud I hear nothing else. His body catches on mine, his jeans brushing against my bare legs, the pad of his thumb caressing my bare shoulder, his nose skimming up my breastbone, igniting a million tiny fires inside me.
I raise my hand, brushing over the stubble on his chin and jaw. I swim in an invisible ocean of him.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you,” he says.
His lips pull to mine, beginning tragically slow, and I taste the hint of liquor fading from his breath. Everything about him is hard against my fingertips. His tongue teases the outside of my lips before delving inward, and I am lost.
He falls, and I relish the weight of him, the pressure against me.
His hand traces the swell of my breast and down my side until he is there at that most intimate part of me. Everything feels different from anything I’ve ever experienced before. I’m not drunk. He’s not clumsy.
Every movement is ardent.
Every touch reverent.
Every kiss fervent.
He thrusts a single digit inside me, and I arch up to meet him.
“God,” he growls into my mouth, “you’re so wet for me, baby.”
He thrusts in and out, just his one finger, and I quiver beneath him. I want more, need more, but I can’t be another notch on a bedpost. I can’t have any more regrets. He slips another finger inside me and growls something indiscernible.
With those two fingers, he works magic. Fire laps at my insides and climbs higher. His thumb strums over my clit, and I quake.
“That’s right, sweetness,” he says, feathering kisses down my throat as he plays me like I’m his violin.
He stalks down the bed, and as I watch him, he disappears between my knees until all I see is the black mop of his hair.
At first, he laves over the inside of my thighs in small circles that make me quiver. He puts a hand on either side of my knees and takes a moment just to blow a breath of hot air over me.
“Ohhh,” I mewl, and I feel him chuckle all
