“Salvatore.” Her voice cracked like a whip, snapping me back. Hands on her hips, the glare she shot me went straight to my spine.
“Bea”—I cleared my throat—“you’re beautiful.”
Her eyelids lowered to half-mast, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Thank you. Now, won’t you be a good boy and come here?”
Fuck.
My cock throbbed in my briefs, and my brain kicked back into gear. I crossed the room and caught her. Curling my arm around her waist, I snatched her against me. She released a breath as we collided, her hands flattening on my shoulders.
“I like the way you listen,” she whispered. “Now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”
We moved at once, our mouths seeking and finding. Kissing hard, deep, urgent. Grappling hands, touching, caressing. The game had been underway all night, bringing us both to this boiling point.
This wasn’t part of the plan, but when Bea was in my presence, I lost all sense of structure. She brought chaos with her and swept me into it. It was heady and overwhelming, blocking out everything but her. The now. The present.
We kissed until standing became useless then fell into a pile on the thick rug, Bea on her back, reaching for me, taking my weight on top of her.
Bracing myself on one elbow, I kissed and sucked along her throat, unable to get enough of her taste, the way she felt under my lips. Her raspy moans were nearly my undoing. What would she think if I came in my underwear without even touching her?
I wouldn’t be her good boy.
That thought yanked me into focus, back to the warm, soft woman beneath me. Her wet hair splayed on the rug, the hair around her face already drying into ringlets. I touched those silky curls thenher velvety cheek. She turned her head, catching my palm with her lips.
“You can touch me,” she said.
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
If she asked me to stop, I would. But I had her exactly where I wanted her, and nothing else would get in my way.
I trailed a hand down her front, squeezing her breasts, the sharp point of her nipple like a pebble beneath my touch. She groaned when I squeezed her, arching for me.
My hand slipped lower, fingers trailing along the smooth fabric of her lingerie, feeling the heat beneath the fabric. I didn’t rush. I couldn’t.
She tilted her hips, just a little. An offering. An answer.
I cupped her over the lace, engulfed by the warmth and softness of her thighs. I tapped my finger over her seam, making her breath stutter. “Can I?”
Heavy-lidded eyes on mine, she parted her legs. “You’d better.”
I wouldn’t disappoint her. Not ever.
Hooking my fingers beneath the elastic edge, I dragged the fabric to the side, baring her to me. When I made contact with her wet, swollen skin, I shifted back, barely holding it together. She was pretty, sexy, glistening with desire.
She moaned as I dragged a singular finger through her slick heat. I lifted my gaze to her face, watching the way her lashes fluttered, her mouth parted, her breath caught. She was in this with me. Just as needy. Just as turned on.
I did it again. Slower. Deeper.
She rolled her hips, chasing the friction, gasping when I circled her clit with my thumb while slipping two fingers inside. I hadto take a deep breath, battling to control myself. My cock ached with need, but this wasn’t about me. My focus was on the woman writhing beneath me—on giving her pleasure and satisfaction.
“Tore—” Her voice broke on my name.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured. “I want you to come for me. Do you need more?”
Her fingers wrapped around my arm. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”
I sank my fingers deeper. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” She raised her knees higher. “Keep going.”
