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Her eyes sparkle, and her pink tongue darts out to wet her moist lips. “Your words affect me the same way your body does,” she says.
“I haven’t even started yet.”
The sound of the elevator stopping doesn’t make us pull apart. Our gazes are locked together.
My fingers trail along the back of her thigh, feeling the silk-like texture of her skin, and she trembles.
Brooklyn’s body is feverish, ready, and so eager that a wave of pure lust sweeps through me.
Her blue eyes, normally clear, are stormy, like a sea in the middle of a tempest.
Her scent is ingrained in me, etched into my olfactory memory, to the point that even when we’re apart, I can sense the soft fragrance, a mix of feminine allure and flowers, which I think comes from her shampoo.
My fingers graze the back of her thigh, and I lose my mind when I feel her spread them without me even asking.
I lift one of her legs, bringing it to my waist, but it’s not enough, so I hoist her completely off the ground. “Wrap your thighs around me.”
She obeys and goes further, her hands reaching for the collar of my shirt, unbuttoning it. Then I feel her lips against my skin.
“I was dying to know what you taste like,” she says.
“By the time this night ends, you’ll know. That’s a promise, Brooklyn.”
Her eyes follow the movement of my lips. “And will you taste me too?” she asks.
Once we’re out of the elevator, I type in the code to unlock the door. I close it with my foot and press her body, still in my arms, against it. “There won’t be a single inch of your skin that my tongue won’t touch,” I promise.
She gasps, but there’s no time for the next breath before my mouth takes control of hers.
Brooklyn moans loudly when she feels my hard length against the apex of her thighs, barely covered by lingerie made of fabric so thin that, even through my suit pants, I can feel the perfect outline of her wet core.
I want to tear our clothes off and take her right here, in one swift move, without foreplay. To thrust deep and hear her scream as the wet flesh of her sex stretches to give me passage.
My hand moves between us and rubs her center, still protected by her panties.
She bites me. “Athanasios . . .”
I capture her lower lip between my teeth, sucking the tender flesh, and then plunge my tongue deep into her sexy mouth that has been haunting my fantasies for days.
It’s a rough kiss, nowhere near an introduction—more like a reunion, as if we’ve been doing this forever.
She presses her body against mine, climbing up, offering herself, and my hands roughly squeeze the flesh of her ass.
I need her, to be inside her, and the discovery of this need surprises me.
We groan into each other’s mouths as our bodies grind together in mutual torment, delaying the pleasure.
Her trembling hands finish unbuttoning my shirt, and teeth and tongue come to my chest, biting and sucking.
“Fuck, Brooklyn.”
My fingers slide into her panties, finally feeling the needy wetness of her arousal. Her clit throbs against my thumb, and she whimpers incoherent words as I mercilessly attack that point of pleasure.
Brooklyn bites my jaw and neck, licks, returning the caresses in whatever way she can. Her breathing is heavy and hot against my skin.
I grab her lips with mine again, and her hands slide down to my abdomen.
“I love how hard you are,” she says between moans. “How your rigid flesh contrasts with mine.”