3
HOLLY
Oh dear god. I’m going to hell. Like the really bad hell that’s below all the other hells. I lay flat on the floor and don’t move as Danny crawls on his hands and knees towards me. I should be righting myself. Telling him no. Telling him absolutely not. How will I ever face him again?
But my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I just lay there, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, my gaze glued to his slow, measured prowl. I want it. I want this. Want him. I want him to put his hand down my pants and make me come.
I absolutely believe if any man can make me see angels, it’s him. Even though it’s such a sacrilegious thing to think, which is another reason I’m going to hell, but damn…the man has a way with words.
What happens in the elevator, stays in the elevator.
More great words. Their permissiveness echoes through my head and whispers in my ear as his body looms over top of mine, and I’m too far gone to do anything other than follow their lead. It’s like I checked my morals at the door when I stepped in the elevator.
His knees are either side of my hips now although they don’t touch, his hands are planted either side of my shoulders, his arms straight, the tats on his forearms dancing in my peripheral vision as his muscles work to keep him elevated.
He stares down at me, and I am caught in the warm, blue heat of his gaze. My pulse flutters erratically at my temple, pounds hard in my chest, and throbs heavy between my legs.
Not taking his eyes from mine, he lifts his right hand. It hovers down my body, and I suppress the urge to arch my back so it makes contact on its way to its destination. My nipples are so hard they feel as if they’re about to pop right off.
His hand lands softly just above the drawstring waist of my sweatpants. I gasp as my stomach muscles contract. I can’t stop it, can’t call it back.
He just smiles. Like he knows. And I hate him a little bit, but I need him to keep going.
He does.
His hand burrows beneath the layers of fleece and long johns and underwear until it skims against bare flesh, and I shiver and cry out and really do arch my back now as his fingers slide against the aching flesh between my legs.
“Is that where it hurts, Doc?” His gaze is like a missile locked on mine. I want to shut my eyes, to look away, but I am mesmerized. And he knows that, too. “Is that where you need me?”
“Yes.”
A pent-up sob falls from my lips as his fingers find my clitoris and start to tease. My hips lift, circle to the motion of his hand. My heart crashes against my rib cage, and I’m panting and he’s barely started.
“Oh yes,” he whispers, his eyes burning bright. “I knew you’d be this wet for me.” Two fingers find my entrance and he shoves inside me and I cry out and grab his arm. The edges of my world start to fold in on themselves.
“So tight.” He draws them slowly out. “So wet.” He pushes them slowly in.
I can barely breathe for the sensations swamping me, I want to shut my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t look away from him, from the way he’s looking at me, like he’s getting off on it as much as I am.
“You know what you should do now?” he asks as his fingers slide in and out so freaking good.
I shake my head. I can’t form a coherent thought. I doubt I can move to do anything.
“You should pull up your shirt and play with your tits.”
I suck in a breath at the suggestion. At the profanity of it. At the dirtiness. The analytical part of my brain rejects it even as my hands reach for the hem and yank up both layers of material. The air is hot and sizzles against the taut tips of my nipples.
But it’s not enough. I need these clothes off. I’m hot, burning up, I want them gone. I wrest them off my head, and Danny smiles at me as he drops his gaze to my chest.
“Oh yeah.” His voice is rough and low as my hands slide onto my breasts. “That’s it. Pinch them. Twist them. I bet you get off on a little pain.”
I mentally reject the notion but something dark and dormant stirs to life inside me and my fingers are a slave to its dictates. My nipples are already elongated with arousal, and I pinch the tips and twist them at the same time. A shard of white, hot pain lances through them. The sensation shudders through my body, and I moan. It hurts so damn good.
“Hell yessss. I felt that all the way down here.” His eyes are darker now, hotter, as his fingers scissor inside me, and I moan. “Oh yeah…your pussy likes that too, clamping down so fucking tight.”
Danny obviously doesn’t believe in using the proper terms for body parts. He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “You look hot touching yourself, Doc.”
The compliment cascades over me and I twist my nipples at the same time his fingers thrust inside and electricity arcs between the two, a hot blue streak, vicious in its erotic intensity.
He smiles. “I knew you’d be like this. I knew you’d be hot and tight and wet.” His fingers punctuate each word with a deep thrust. “I knew your tits would look like this as you gave it up for me.”
His words fill my head with their arrogant certainty. They make me mad as hell and so freaking turned on I can barely breathe.
“I knew you wanted me.” He adds another finger and my hips rotate as the stretch burns so damn good. “That you’d spread your legs for me.” He withdraws and slams into me again and I moan as he sets an insane rhythm, ploughing his clever fingers into me over and over. “I knew you’d do whatever the hell I wanted when I got you on your back.”
I want to deny it but he’s right—I’ve known it too. Known it was only a matter of time before this happened, before I was flat on my back for him. Giving him whatever the hell he wanted. It’s why I’ve been running so damn hard in the other direction.
His mouth, as he speaks, is as mesmerizing as his eyes, and I want to kiss it despite his arrogance. I want to feel it against mine, I want his tongue thrusting inside me as deep and sure as his fingers.
“Kiss me.” It comes out on a gasp as he adds another digit and my hips buck at the invasion. I lift my head, my lips seeking his as my fingers clamp tight around my nipples.
He lowers his mouth so it hovers just over mine, wisps of his beard brush my chin. He smells like soap and coffee. He smiles and shakes his head. “Can’t. A deal’s a deal, Doc.”
I growl my displeasure as he removes his mouth from my vicinity and I collapse back against the duvet. He laughs and I hate him some more but he’s relentless then, pulling his fingers out of me, ignoring my moan of protest as they glide to my clitoris, pinching and flicking and rubbing hard, just like I need it, just like I’ve always needed it.
No guy has ever known that about me. But Danny—a virtual stranger—knows it instantly. Knows that I need relentless pressure on my clitoris—almost brutal. Not soft or slow or gentle but fast and fierce and furious.
The orgasm starts in my toes and spreads north like wildfire, gathering momentum as it rolls through every muscle group and along every nerve ending until I shake with it. But I’m scared to give it free rein. Scared it’ll consume me and I’ll burn up in this elevator and never know anything like this again and, perversely, I don’t want it to keep going because then it will end and I don’t want it to end.
“Let it go, Doc.” His voice is low and rough and urgent as he hangs over me, his eyes boring into mine, hot, insistent. “Let it go.”
But I can’t. It’s trembling hard through my muscles, but I push it back. I just can’t.
His head swoops down then and he kisses me, his beard prickling as he licks into my mouth, and the electricity is in his tongue and I break, crying out his name as my body bows off the floor, consumed by the maelstrom. The blizzard is inside me now, but it’s hot, not cold, lashing me with heat and raining me with fire. It buffets my body, and I am lost to its push and pull.
I give in to it. To the fork and sizzle of the lightning, licking hot tongues everywhere. To the deep plunder of his mouth. To the mad pound of my heart. My body is the grateful beneficiary of his experience, and I let him tutor me right to the end.
My orgasm reaches its crescendo, and I cry out as it takes me, my pulse as loud as the blizzard inside my head. Danny’s fingers know just what to do, prolonging the ecstasy, and I buck against them, wringing out every last second of pleasure, holding out for as long as I can.
But then it’s over, the storm spirals away, and I’m so excruciatingly sensitive where he’s touching me I whimper against his mouth and grab for his wrist, wrenching it out of my pants. “Stop,” I gasp against his mouth.
I vaguely hear him chuckle, and his smiling face floats above me as he looms there again for a beat or two before he collapses beside me. I know how he feels. I’m like a toasted marshmallow at the moment—a burnt crisp on the outside, a puddle of goo in the middle.
We contemplate the ceiling together. Only the sound of our breathing disturbs the silence. I love that his is as erratic as mine and I listen to it as I slowly recover, my eyes drifting shut.
“You want to talk about the weather now?”
I laugh. It’s been my experience that round about now a new sexual partner usually asks how it was. Not Danny. He doesn’t have to. The man knows I just had the best sexual experience of my life.
And there hadn’t even been proper…penetration.
I can barely keep my eyes open now. An intense orgasm on top of zero sleep is a lethal combination. I’m only just conscious of rolling on my side, of snuggling against him, of his warm arm sliding around my shoulders. I think I sigh and I vaguely feel his lips brush the top of my head, but then sleep pulls at my eyelids and I fall headfirst into slumber.
I don’t know how long I sleep for. All I know, as I float up through the layers to consciousness, is I’m cocooned in warmth and my nose is pushed against a firm cushiony muscle. There is dim light and hard floor beneath me as my eyes flutter open, and I confront a flat brown nipple ringed by dark green ink.
I’m fully awake now, my body reacting before my brain gets into gear. I glance up into the sleeping face of a very familiar man, his mouth slack, his whiskery jaw so damn tactile.
I’m asleep in Danny Colton’s arms? I frantically think back to this morning. The blizzard. The heating in my apartment. Knocking on Danny’s door. Getting into the elevator with him.
Oh no…
I blink, my head jerks up, flight or fright kicks in and I choose both as my brain grapples for explanations.
What did I do?
Unfortunately it all comes back to me—Danny’s hand down my pants, Danny talking dirty to me, Danny kissing me, Danny making me come—as I scuttle backwards, crab-like. I have to get as far away from him as possible in an elevator that suddenly feels about as large as a postage stamp. I scuttle until the wall hits my back and then I scuttle up until I’m standing.
I stare at him, horrified for a beat or two until every detail of what we did comes back and I drag my eyes off him. I snag my refection in the dull aluminum finish on the opposite wall.
Good lord!
I stare at the woman who looks back at me, her hair in a cloud around her head and completely naked from the waist up. My pulse splutters in my chest as I look down at myself.
Yep. Topless. What on earth is the matter with me?
I cover my nudity with crossed arms but I still don’t recognize the woman opposite.
“Looking for this?”
Everything inside me freezes at the deep male voice. My gaze cuts to the floor where Danny is now on his stomach, propped up on a bent elbow as my shirt dangles from his fingertips. He doesn’t bother to suppress his amusement.
Leaning forward with both my hands still crossed in front of me, I snatch it off him and press the scrunched fabric to my chest to cover my modesty. He props himself on both bent elbows now and watches me. My pulse hammers madly as I contemplate how to put on my shirt without flashing at him.
“You need me to fill you in on what happened?”
I shake my head. “Oh no. It’s all coming back to me.”
He smiles a big smile. “You’re freaking out about it, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. I have levels of freaking out at the moment and level one is my state of dress. Maybe I could ask him to turn around?
“Could you…do you think you could turn around so I can put my shirt on?”
That’s how bamboozled I am. I could just turn around, but it doesn’t occur to me right at this moment. I’m caught between mortification and some sick kind of wantonness that likes the way he’s looking at me with such frank appreciation.
He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “Hell, no.”
I didn’t expect him to refuse and my breath catches. But I suddenly have bigger concerns. I finally notice he’s not wearing a shirt either. Acres of tan—despite living in the middle of the Rocky Mountains—and tats stretch smooth and taut over flat abs and wide, round shoulders. I blink and drag my eyes off a chest I suddenly want to lick.
Concentrate, Holly.
He came into this elevator wearing a t-shirt and a hoodie which are now both on the floor. I sift through my addled brain, trying to remember when it came off, but I can’t. I’m sure it was still on when I drifted off to sleep.
“Where’s your shirt?”
“I took it off about half an hour ago.” He shrugs. “It’s hot enough in here without having a woman plastered all over you.”
“Oh.” Warmth floods my cheeks, adding to the heat already in abundance. I suck in a breath of stuffy air and send out a quick prayer for imminent rescue.
He looks me over like he’s contemplating what to do with me next, and my breath cuts off in my throat, my organs melt down. A voice yammers at the back of my head. Put your shirt on, Holly. But I’m too caught up in the contemplation of his gaze to listen to it. My legs tremble as his gaze lingers everywhere, and I’m glad for the solid bulk of the wall behind.
“I’m hungry.”
I blink. With him looking at me like this, food is the last thing on my mind. But his sculpted musculature looks like it needs a lot of calories to keep it pumped and primed. He pushes to his hands and knees in one graceful movement and my throat is suddenly dry as toast.
He does that prowl towards me again until he’s close enough to sit back on his haunches. I should be mortified that he’s practically sitting at my feet, his head level with my crotch, his gaze wandering slowly over my body, his nostrils flaring.
But I just feel dizzy. And taut with anticipation.
A man is at my feet, gazing up at me, his focus intense. The hard thump of my heart bounds through my abdomen and pushes against all my pulse points.
“You might have to wait till we get out of here.” I clear my throat, my voice annoyingly raspy.
He shakes his head slowly, his smile growing bigger and bigger. “I have plenty to eat.”
I’m confused for a moment, then his hand lands on the fabric of my shirt, just under where I clutch it to my chest. He tugs it and some of it slips through my fingers to reveal the upper swells of my breasts. I grip harder, resisting the pull.
“What are you doing?” My voice, still husky, hovers in air as heavy as the throb between my legs.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I want to look at you.” His words are like a caress. Like he’s leaned forward and brushed his lips against my belly. “Then I’m going to eat you.”
My stomach clenches tight. The crude statement shocks me so much that when he tugs again, the shirt slips from my hands. I’m laid bare to him now, and his gaze zeroes in on my breasts. My nipples pucker at his intense interest, and he smiles knowingly.
I should hate him and be embarrassed at my exposure, but my brain is still stuck back at the eating part. He wasn’t hungry for food.
Everything below my belly button clenches.
He wants to… He’s going to…go down on me.
Not taking his gaze from the diamond-hard tips of my nipples, his hands slide up the sides of my legs and my skin tingles in their wake. He’s going slowly. I know I can stop him at any moment. I know he will stop if I ask. All I have to do is open my mouth and tell him no.
Such a simple two-letter word. So easy to say.
But my heart is thundering and my throat is dry and I’m so drenched between my legs with wanting I can smell it. He can too, the flare of his nostrils tells me so. And I want this. For him to put his mouth to me. To eat me.
I’ve never achieved orgasm the two other times a guy has gone down on me. Never. But I liked it. I liked it a lot. And everything is hot and tight and tingling, and I’m so primed for another climax that Danny will probably only need to breathe on me down there and I’ll come all over his face.
The thought is shocking. And so damn titillating.
For a moment, I wonder if Danny planned this whole thing somehow and he’s rigged some kind of aerosolized drug or aphrodisiac to slowly diffuse into the ventilation system of the elevator. Because this isn’t like me. I don’t do stuff like this.
Until today. Today, suddenly, I crave it.
I push the thought aside. This is Danny. He’s not the grand master plan kinda guy. Too elaborate for Mr. Laid Back. And why conjure up a blizzard and trap women in elevators when he can just crook his finger? When he can look at me and tell me he can get me off with just one hand and I let him?
Why extend himself?
His fingers reach my waist band, and his gaze seeks mine. “Whaddya reckon, Doc? Care to help a starving man out?”
The air almost sizzles as my breath huffs out. I don’t say yes, exactly, because I’m too enthralled to form coherent words, but when he hooks his thumbs under my waistband I don’t object. I just stare at him, my lips parted, my breathing a series of soft, ragged pants.
His eyes stay locked on mine as he peels three layers of clothing—sweatpants, long johns, underwear—down in one smooth movement. All the way down. His gaze never leaves mine, even as his hands urge me to step out of the confines altogether, including my socks, and he tosses them over his shoulder.
Only when I’m fully naked does he break eye contact, his gaze meandering down, down, down until he reaches the juncture of my thighs and his breath hisses from his lungs in an audible stream.
“Oh yes,” he whispers.
He stares for a long time, his nostrils flaring, his mouth slightly parted, and my heart beats and my mouth waters and the slickness builds between my legs. My rectus abdominis muscles behind my belly button pull tauter and tauter. I swear I hear them creak under the tension.
He leans forward and brushes his mouth against my inner upper thigh and a low moan gurgles in the back of my throat. It’s loud, though, in the cloistered air of the elevator, louder again as he repeats the caress on the other side. His breath is hot on my leg, his beard an erotic caress as he nuzzles closer and closer to where I need him most.
A hand slides onto my right ankle, and I startle at the unexpectedness. My pulse spikes, but he just urges my leg up and over his shoulder, baring me fully to his view. And he looks fully. I’m the most exposed I’ve ever been to a man’s gaze, and I’m so turned on I can barely breathe.
He flicks his gaze up. “I usually like to take my time when I eat, but I’m in the mood for some fast food right now.” He brings those sexy, wicked lips so close to my own slick, swollen ones, I swear they quiver beneath the fan of his breath. Our gazes mesh. “You might want to hold onto that railing, Doc.”
He’s on me then, his mouth opening over me, and I gasp and writhe as his tongue immediately hits the target as relentless as his fingers had been. My supporting leg threatens to buckle, and I grab for the railing at the same time his hand grips the thigh to shore me up.
I twist my other hand in his hair. Our gazes lock tight, and he watches my face as his tongue flays me relentlessly. He watches the way I gasp and pant and the way my breasts sway and bounce and the way my face moves. The way it twists and contorts with the pleasure ripping right through my middle.
My hips start to rock of their own accord, and my hand flattens against the back of his head, holding him there, right there where his tongue is hitting just the right spot. His hand finds my ass, clamping tight so he can keep hitting the spot and all the time we stare into each other’s eyes and the look in his steals my breath.
He’s loving it. He’s loving every second.
Maybe it’s that look. Maybe it’s his technique. Or maybe it’s because I’ve already come once and my body knows the way. Most likely it’s because a guy I barely know except to yell at and hate on is going down on me in a broken-down elevator in the middle of a blizzard.
Whatever it is, it’s working. I’m his burger and fries to go. And I’m ready to go.
I break, crying out loud. A powerful contraction slams into me and the blizzard is back. It roars through my pelvis like an electrical current and I cry out. His hand clamps harder, his tongue works faster, his beard burns hotter against the flesh of my inner thighs. Another contraction follows and another until they’re ripping through my body as hot and hard and heavy as the breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
The desire to throw back my head, to arch my back, rides my spine like a demon but I can’t tear my gaze from his. I don’t want to look away from him. Look away from him watching me. Look away from him watching me from between my legs as the orgasm he’s giving me, owns my ass.
So I don’t. I ignore the urge to shut my eyes and stay with him until the very end. Stay with him until the orgasm has faded and his tongue is swiping long and slow against my quivering flesh and my legs really do give out and he chuckles softly against my thighs and eases me down beside him.