He reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled.
49
TESSA
Blake’s lips explored mine with an intensity that spoke of years of imagining this moment. Years of staring at my mouth, imagining it on his, all while I noticed the soft planes of his body and the strength of his hands, wondering what they’d feel like on my skin.
“Maria.” Blake’s eyes never left mine.
“Yes?” In my peripheral vision, I saw Maria appear tentatively, her voice and body language screaming,Please let me get the hell out of here; I so do not want to hear my boss having sex.
“Leave,” Blake commanded. “Now.”
“Done.” She said in athank Godtone, scurrying to what I could only presume was a back door to the penthouse.
Meanwhile, Blake’s mouth reclaimed mine, and unlike our passionate encounter on the terrace, this was fundamentally different. It was different in the way he devoured my mouth, like he’d hungered for it all the days of his life. It was different in how his hands roamed over my body with a fiery mix of tension and soft gentleness that spoke of something deeper and more meaningful than just sex. And it was different because of his profession. On the terrace, he’d admitted to wanting mephysically all these years, but this time, he professed his love for me.
This was his soul recognizing mine.
I could feel it everywhere, like electricity charging through my body. Our connection sparked and pulled, transcending mere attraction, and each touch carried the weight of countless moments. Stolen glances across rooms, breath catching when we’d brush against each other, hearts racing in shared elevator rides.
Blake tugged my shirt over my head, his movements precise around the monitoring electrodes stuck to my skin. He disconnected the thin, flexible wires from the lightweight device with practiced ease, setting it aside as his mouth blazed a trail along my jaw. His bruised knuckles—evidence of his earlier protective fury—were surprisingly gentle as they worked at the buttons of my jeans.
I was tugging too. Tugging at his shirt, pulling it as high as I could before he reached behind himself—holy hell, was that sexy, when a guy could reach behind his shoulder blades and strip his entire shirt over his head—and pulled it off in one fluid motion, tossing it to the ground.
We fumbled with remaining clothes, hands desperate and greedy, mouths clashing and breaking apart only long enough to shed the last barriers between us. Standing nude in his foyer—surrounded by priceless art and that coveted statue that represented everything he’d achieved—Blake pulled back to look at me, his gaze raking over my body with such hunger that I felt cherished.
“You’re beautiful, Cupcake.”
So was he. Muscles, woven into a fabric of art on his body, ink that I knew concealed his scars, physical remnants of a past he’d shared only with me.
My finger traced along the roughest line, feeling the raised tissue beneath. “Does it hurt?”
Blake captured my hand, pressing my palm against his heart. “Not anymore.” The simple words carried layers of meaning about his past, about us, about everything that had led to this moment.
Something crashed through his features then. A softness, a light that looked like it had been trying to turn itself on for years in an unending storm and finally miraculously broke free.
My lips crashed to his, pressing my bare chest to his torso. When Blake, never breaking our kiss, reached down and picked me up, placing me on the foyer’s glass table, I let out a delighted giggle.
The table was a delicate thing, only two feet deep and four feet long. I had no idea if the glass could withstand my weight, but the danger didn’t bother me. Not one bit, not when Blake’s hands were on my breasts.
Squeezing until I gasped.
His mouth blazed a trail down my jaw, pausing to press a tender kiss against the scar on my collarbone, the one that had driven him into a fury, before his tongue found my nipple. My head fell back against the wall as I ran my fingers through his hair, a bolt of heat charging between my legs until it throbbed with such intensity that I wasn’t sure I could wait for foreplay. I needed him. All of him, buried deep inside of me.
“Birth control?” The question was a growl against my skin as his mouth continued its sweet torture.
“IUD,” I managed breathlessly.
“Thank hell.” Blake’s voice was rough with need. “Because I want to feel every inch of you with my bare skin when I take you, Cupcake.”
Take me. Two words alone that had the power to make me come undone. I wanted to submit to Blake, to let him worship my body until neither of us had anything left.
On the floor, Blake’s pager beeped. My heart clenched. Surely, he would have to leave now, just when he’d finally professed his feelings, just when my body was so alive with want that I felt like I could lose my breaths if he stopped.
But he didn’t stop. He kept going.
“Don’t you have to get that?” I asked breathlessly.
