Page 47 of Faking the Pass

Unfinished Business

R osie

My heart thundered wildly, waiting for his response.

I didn’t have to wait long.

With an urgent, growling sound, Presley dropped his mouth to mine and kissed me. Deeply, seriously, the way he had at the gala, but this time there was real intention behind it—and there was no crowd of onlookers.

It was just me and my husband, our private hotel room, and several weeks’ worth of unfinished business.

He’d already loosened the Cinderella dress, and now he peeled it from my body, leaving me only in my corset and thong.

“ This is what you were wearing all night?” he asked in an awed tone as he pushed up to his knees to get a better view. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know or we wouldn’t have lasted thirty minutes there.”

I laughed, stretching my arms up to him.

“If you’d told me that high school story was true earlier, I would have dragged you out of there after fifteen. I had no idea you were that into me back then.”

Presley grinned, bending down for a kiss. “I should make confessions more often.”

Then he reclined on his side so he could browse my body with his hand while kissing my neck. He traced the top edge of the corset with his fingertips, skating them oh so close to my nipples, which were barely contained by the corset cups.

“I was so into you,” he murmured close to my ear. “I plan to get even more into you now… as often as you’ll let me.”

His hand wandered down the front of the corset, over my stomach, and delved into the wetness between my legs. Heat blasted through me, though I was already beyond hot for him.

It was so good to be with him like this again. So, so good.

His touch was like standing close to a bonfire that was being fed fresh wood. Sparks flew and swirled and crackled throughout my body.

I turned my face so our mouths met, and as we kissed, I pushed up into his hand, making needy little noises that might have embarrassed me if I wasn’t so desperate—and if I couldn’t tell how hungry they made him.

I liked Presley hungry.

Correction— loved him this way.

I loved the feel of his hands and his mouth, the sexy growling noises he made, the look of adoration and molten heat in his eyes as he stroked me into a frenzy.

Shifting to lower his head over my chest, his long body, still clad in the frilly shirt and those damned porno-breeches pressed harder against my side.

The blue silk did nothing to disguise his enormous erection digging into my thigh.

As he swept his tongue beneath the corset’s top edge and continued to rub intimate circles with his hand, I reached my own hand down and found the front of him, gripping the outline of his hard-on through the thin material.

He let out a groan that was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard.

The evidence of his extreme arousal made me wild with excitement.

All of that was mine . He was mine.

He lifted his mouth long enough to say, “Fuck that feels good,” before licking my breast again in just the way I liked it.

This was a man who knew my body, who’d somehow not forgotten a thing about what turned me on, even fifteen years after first introducing me to sexual pleasure.

The way his hot mouth moved over my sensitive skin was intoxicating, and the rhythm of his hand was maddening. My hand rubbed in sync with his, and soon we were both groaning and sizzling with want and need.

With every sweet slide of his tongue and stroke of his fingers, the tension coiled, finally hitting a breaking point and shattering me into little pieces of pure, sweet, hot sensation.

Even as I drifted on a current of pleasure, I wanted more of him. I tried unsuccessfully, to slip my hand inside the tight pants that had caused such a spectacle at the gala tonight.

“I’m afraid there’s no room for anybody else in these fucking things,” Presley muttered before sliding off the bed and stripping off the hated breeches.

He returned to the bed immediately, climbing over me then sinking his hard weight into my soft curves.

It felt incredible to have his perfect, muscular body stretched out on top of mine again, pressing me into the luxurious bed. Kissing me ravenously, he pushed inside me and started thrusting at a pace that was almost desperate.

Presley was a powerful, virile, intensely sexual man, and he’d been deprived for too long.

So had I.

How many times had I fantasized alone in my room about exactly this? Feeling him over me, moving inside me, eliciting exquisite sensations and making me forget about all the reasons this was a bad idea.

After what had transpired tonight, I was ready to let all those reasons go.

Running my hands over his strong shoulders and tight sides and unbelievably firm ass, I wondered how I’d even thought of letting him go.

And how I’d somehow made it this long without licking every part of him.

Picturing doing exactly that, I felt the sweet tension build again, lightning fast, and then I was moving faster beneath him, digging my heels into his muscular calves and lifting myself against him to achieve a perfection of angle and friction.

“Oh God, you’re close,” Presley groaned and drove into me harder, deeper.

Within seconds, the electric tension built to a whole new voltage, and then I was arcing, bright sparks behind my eyelids and white-hot pleasure shooting to all my nerve endings.

Presley was right behind me, hearing my screams then letting go with a beautiful hoarse roar that sent chills racing over my skin and warmth rushing through my heart.

God I was so in love with this man.

He was my every fantasy come true, and even if he didn’t love me back, I knew at least that he wanted me. That he always had.

It was starting to feel like enough.