I stop in the middle of the hallway and look around. Which of these doors is hiding Mr. Sexy Pants Crazy Man? None of them look on the cusp of singeing, due to Savage’s proximity. For all I know, Savage’s room is in an entirely different hallway. Or maybe even on the first floor.
Not knowing what else to do, I pick a random door and press my ear against it, hoping that, miraculously, I’ll hear Savage’s voice behind it, or maybe detect some kind of supernatural Savage-infused vibration humming from inside the room. But, no, the room is silent and the air doesn’t feel super-charged with rockstar electrons in the slightest.
“Savage?” I whisper, ever so softly, my lips brushing the wood of the door, my voice as soft as flapping butterfly wings. But, sadly, perfect silence answers me.
I tiptoe to the next door in the hallway and repeat the same exercise. But again, I’m met with the same result. When I move away from the door this time, however, I notice a frozen figure at the far end of the long hallway, watching me.
I inhale sharply. It’s Savage. Wearing nothing but dark briefs. His chiseled, gorgeous chest is heaving visibly. His nipples are two perfect dimes. His abs cut and taut. And, hot damn, his dark eyes are two lustful laser beams taking in the sight of my barely clothed body.
For a half second, we both stand, silently drinking each other in from opposite ends of the long hallway, our chests rising and falling in synchronicity. Finally, Savage wordlessly points toward a doorway to his right, nonverbally inviting me to enter. Or was that a command? Either way, I don’t hesitate. My pulse thumping and my skin hot and alive with tingles, I glide down the length of the endless hallway, and finally walk straight past him into the room with both my head and chest held high.
Savage follows me into the room—a bedroom decorated in hues of white—and quietly shuts the door with a soft click. After turning from the door, he glides up to me, slides a palm to my cheek, leans in, and, without hesitation, presses his mouth to mine—instantly provoking a long and shuddering exhale of excitement from us both.
Savage kisses me tenderly at first. Like he’s savoring a first mouthful of expensive wine. But after initial entreaties, when I realize he doesn’t taste the least bit like cigarettes, but, instead, like toothpaste and lust and the remnants of whiskey, when I open my mouth and enthusiastically invite him to take me in earnest, Savage’s warm tongue breaches my lips and begins leading mine in swirling, sensuous strokes, an increasingly voracious dance of our tongues and lips that quickly sets off a breathtaking barrage of fireworks inside my core.
As a torrent of arousal slams into me, I slide my arms around Savage’s neck and begin devouring him enthusiastically. In response, he slides his arms around my torso and deepens his kiss, until, soon, I’m jerking and jolting in his arms, gasping for air as shockwaves of pleasure and arousal throttle my every nerve ending, but especially that pulsing bundle of nerves between my legs. If there were surveillance footage of this white-hot kiss, I’m positive there’d be visible sparks flying off our bodies in this moment.
As our kiss deepens and intensifies, I inhale him, savoring the taste and scent of him. In addition to the delicious scents I’ve previously detected, I smell soap and shampoo now, too. And, still, not even a trace of cigarettes. Savage smells nothing but clean and delicious and sexy. Perfect.
“You didn’t smoke tonight,” I gasp out into his lips.
Savage nuzzles his nose against mine and smiles wickedly, brushing his bulge against me down below. “I knew my fake girlfriend wouldn’t kiss me if I did—and I was going to get this kiss tonight, if it killed me.”
I inhale sharply at the implication—that Savage consciously decided, hours ago, to forego smoking a cigarette, solely to kiss me later in the night. And at my obvious excitement, Savage kisses me, even more passionately than before, this time grabbing my ass cheeks firmly in both palms and pushing me into his hard bulge. When I moan with pleasure, he leans his body away from mine, slightly, enough to be able to slide his hand into my underwear. He reaches between my legs and moans when he discovers how wet I am, how swollen and aroused, and immediately begins fingering me in a way that elicits a loud growl.
As he massages my hard, swollen clit while finger-fucking me, I’m absolutely at his mercy. I begin buckling and growling like I’ve put my finger into a light socket, immediately hurtling toward an orgasm that’s sure to make my knees give out.
“I have to lie down,” I gasp out. “I can’t . . . keep going standing up.”
Without hesitation, Savage drags me to the bed, lays me down on my back, yanks down my underwear like they’re gravely insulting to him, and dives right in with a loud and shuddering exhale of excitement. As he licks me, he groans and moans, and then pushes open my thighs as wide as they’ll go. He licks and laps at me, at first, with a wide and greedy tongue. But, in short order, he zeroes
