Page 9 of Beg For Me (Morally Gray #3)

He lifts his head and opens his eyes. Even in the shadows, I can see that his pupils are blown. He looks like he snorted something up his nose. His arms are wrapped hard around me and his chest is heaving, and I literally cannot ever remember being this sexually excited.

Watching him get so turned on turns me on.

Shit. I can already tell this is going to get complicated.

“You may kiss me n—”

He falls on my mouth like a starving man before I’ve even finished the sentence, thrusting his tongue between my lips and delving deep. I match his passion, hungrily kissing him back. He spins me around and pins me against the door, pressing the full length of his strong body against mine.

We kiss until I’m dizzy. And still, we don’t stop.

“I want to touch you everywhere. I want to taste your skin. I want to fuck you up against this door, and when I make you come, I want to get on my knees and fuck you with my tongue and drink every drop of you until you can’t stand up anymore.”

His lips move against mine. His voice is hoarse with desire. His words enflame me to a fever pitch.

No man has ever been so explicit in communicating his wants to me before.

I love it.

We kiss again. I break away before I let myself go too far and stand staring at him with my trembling fingers pressed to my lips.

He blurts, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Breathing hard, he shakes his head. “You look upset. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That was amazing.”

He’s confused and disheveled, his eyes still hazy with desire. “Then why did you stop?”

“Because I was getting close to the point where I couldn’t.”

Blinking slowly, he licks his lips. He drags both hands through his hair and sucks in a breath. When he exhales, he scrubs his hands over his face and shakes his head again, as if trying to awaken from a dream.

“Okay. Okay. Wow. I’m…I might need to sit down.”

“You’re dizzy too?”

“Totally. And disoriented. What planet are we on? What year is it?”

His adorable befuddlement makes me laugh. I move closer and gently straighten the collar of his shirt, then smooth my hands down his chest. He rests his hands on my hips, pulls me against him, touches his forehead to mine, and sighs.

“Well, now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?”

“Ruined me, Sophia. You’ve ruined me for other women.”

Smiling, I chide, “That isn’t the compliment you think it is. But…”

His eyelids pop open. “But what?”

Toying with a button on his shirt, I say lightly, “Maybe we could have another non-date sometime.”

He tries to hide his excitement, but the tremor that runs through his chest gives him away. There’s a tremor in his voice too, when he teases, “You just want another free meal, you moocher.”

“Guilty as charged. I’m a freeloader from way back.”

We’re smiling at each other. It feels good to lean against him like this and look up into his eyes. It feels natural.

He demands suddenly, “What are you thinking?”

“Carter, really. Must you know my every thought?”

“Yes. I absolutely must. If you could do a stream-of-consciousness narration of what you’re thinking and feeling when we’re together, it would be perfect.”

“You’re not big on mystery, hmm?”

He shudders. “God, no. I hate it. Promise me you won’t be aloof either.

I’ll die from the anxiety. I’d rather have you tell me flat-out to my face that I bore you and you never want to see me again than if you act nonchalant and string me along.

Anything’s better than ambiguity. I need to know where I stand. ”

He stares straight into my eyes, serious and intense, all the teasing from moments before vanished. I sense layers of meaning beneath those words, layers that go far too deep to delve into this evening.

He’s been hurt before, that much is obvious.

There goes that stupid bog witch, melting again. At this pace, there will be nothing left of her by next week but fond memories.

I take his face in my hands and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay, handsome,” I murmur. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

“So you do think I’m handsome. I knew it.”

“Quiet.”

In a playful whisper, he says, “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re a terrible flirt.”

“I know.” His grin dies. “Wait, do you mean terrible good or terrible bad? Like I have no idea what I’m doing? Am I making a fool of myself?”

“If you don’t shut up, we’ll be here all night.”

He pauses for a beat. “And the problem with that is…?”

I drop my forehead to his chest and dissolve into helpless laughter. “What am I going to do with you?”

Into my ear, he whispers, “I already told you. All the things.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“My answer still stands. And it’s genius, if I do say so myself.”

How is he this disarming? Every time I think I’ve got my footing, he pulls the rug out from under me.

Smiling, I look up at him. “If you’re done complimenting yourself, I’ll continue.”

“I’m done.”

“Good. As I was saying, I really enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. What time should I pick you up tomorrow night?”

“I never said anything about tomorrow night.”

“How’s six?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes. And I’m not hearing a no. I’ll pick you up at six.”

He kisses me firmly on the mouth, then opens the front door and walks through it, swaggering off toward his car.

I close the door and lock it before I succumb to the urge to call him back. Standing in the darkness, I listen to the growl of the Lamborghini’s engine as it starts up.

I’m still standing there long after it has faded into silence and the only remaining sound is the fast, unsteady beat of my heart.