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“So slick.”
“That’s all your fault,” she purrs, eyes twinkling with mirth.
How have I existed without her in my life?
There’s the answer, isn’t it? I’ve been existing. Not living. That stops now.
“I’ll gladly take the blame.”
She rocks her hips against my fingers, coating them in her wetness. I tease her clit, and her thighs spread, making more room for me. I hope this table holds because there’s no stopping. Not until we’ve both tipped over the edge to euphoria.
Every circle of my thumb over her clit makes her tight cunt clench more. She leans back on her elbows, watching me with hooded eyes. My pulse pounds through my veins, wanting to make her come but needing to be inside her.
Such a quandary.
Her head drops back, all that gorgeous hair falling in a silky wave. Later, I intend to wrap it in my fist and relive that amazing blow job she gifted me in her kitchen. Her enthusiasm slays me.
“So close.”
“Good. Come for me, Beauty.”
“Please don’t stop.”
Her skin tightens as her orgasm grips her. She tries to thrust against my fingers, but with her thighs spread and feet dangling, she has no leverage.
“I’ve got you,” I promise, keeping steady pressure on her nub.
“Ale—” My name dies on her lips as the orgasm detonates. Her pussy grips my fingers, flooding them with another wave of wetness.
She collapses against the table, robe gaping open, hands cupping her breasts. A light flush covers her skin, making her look rosy and vibrant. Her lips part as she sucks in a breath. She’s more kissable than ever.
“Damn, Beauty. I want to take a picture of you just like this, spread out on my table, looking so fucking edible.”
26
KATHERINE
Now this is the kind of wake-up call I could get used to.
Pleasure hums through my veins, and I suck in much-needed oxygen. The elegant hotel suite is bright with the afternoon light, and the table is hard beneath my back. I don’t care. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Because everything has led to the hungry look in Alex’s eyes. Is he serious about the photo?
I give voice to the question humming through my brain. “Really?”
He looks at me like I’m the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen in his life, and I’m not going to lie; it goes straight to my head. And my heart.
He’s mending things he didn’t even break.
Years of my mother harping on about my weight, openly frustrated and detesting my acne, her nonstop disappointment with my hair color.
It all melts away.
To her, I was always a problem. Something to be fixed.
But to Alex, I’m lovely. Worthy of praise and adoration.
“You’re right,” he murmurs, straightening. I swear I see battle armor click into place around him. “I’ll just have to use my memory.”