CHAPTER TEN

Bright lights assaulted him. Fluorescents shone starkly from the ceiling, revealing one wall lined with makeup counters, and four mirrors with exposed light bulbs framing each. He reached for the switch to dim the light to a normal illumination so he could be alone with her without retinas frying, when the wispy blonde from the shoot waved a hand.

Ah fuck. That was a buzzkill. So much for the privacy of a room. His shoulders sagged. It was like being in college again, roommates crawling out of every nook and cranny, right when he’d been hoping to have his hands all over Annalise. His fingers itched to touch her.

“Hi, Annalise,” the blonde said, stretching her arms over her head, pushing them into a gray sweatshirt. She poked her head through the hole.

Annalise cleared her throat. “Hey, Candy. What are you up to?”

“Just going to do some yoga during our break.”

“Great plan. Good use of time. I need to grab my purse.” Annalise gestured to a beige couch littered with purses, bags, and jackets. “Then you can do your downward dog to your heart’s content.”

Candy waved a hand. “I’m meeting my yoga guru. In his room. He travels with me.”

“Oh,” Annalise said, seeming to rein in a smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. “That’s smart. To have him travel with you.”

“Thank you! I better go. I only have a few minutes to clear my mind of dangerous toxins,” she said, then seemed to float on her own weightlessness to the door.

She left, and the door clicked shut with a satisfying thunk.

“A traveling yoga guru?” Michael asked dryly.

“Don’t you have one? I mean, really. How else could you travel?”

He held up his hands. “Can’t think of how I’d manage without one,” he said, then glanced around the room.

“It’s a good thing she had to leave to see him, though, don’t you think?” she said.

“It’s a fucking great thing. Think anyone else will pop in?”

“It’s possible.” Annalise gave an indifferent shrug. “But that’s what chain locks are for.”

She dropped her camera bag to the carpeted floor and slid the lock into place. In a second he was behind her, dragging his nose along her exposed shoulder. “I like touching you, too. So fucking much.”

“I like you touching me,” she whispered, facing the door, her fingers frozen on the lock.

He dragged his hands along her sides, traveling over the fabric of her tank top, along her waist, up her ribs to her breasts, then back down. With her hair pinned up, her neck was bare and inviting. He dipped his head to the soft, sweet flesh, inhaling her. She trembled, shudders racking her whole body. He kissed a path along her neck, up to her ear, then nipped her earlobe.

“Michael,” she said, all low and needy.

“Yes?”

She twisted to face him, looping her arms around his neck. “Last night was…intense.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, then nibbled on her lip.

A part of him knew there was so much to say. Words about time, and distance, and longing. Questions about her heart and her head, and how the fuck she was doing after losing her husband. Practical matters, too, like how long was she in town. Would he see her again today? And did she miss him over all the years with the same kind of intensity he’d missed her?

His brain fought back, reminding him he was being ridiculous. He hadn’t missed her. He hadn’t thought about her. He hadn’t fucking obsessed on her.

This was just fiery lust, and it had been reignited so furiously it blazed white-hot.

“How intense?” he asked, brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “We only kissed last night.”

“Kissing can drive you crazy, though, don’t you think?”

“I made you crazy last night?” He toyed with her, wanting to hear the admissions from her, the breathless, gasping yeses.

“Wild. I was wild,” she said, then reached for his hands and led him to the row of mirrors with the lights. She hopped up on a counter, perching on the edge, and beckoned him closer. With his thigh he nudged open her legs and wedged himself between them. Ah, his favorite place to be. The place he wanted to get to know so much better. Ideally when they were both naked, but clothed was at least a good start.

She roped her arms around his neck and raised her eyes to his. Hers were a confessional. A dirty one. “Last night wasn’t just the two of us kissing. When I returned to my room there was more.”

“Tell me,” he said, threading a hand in her hair, letting the silk flames fall against his fingers. “I want to picture it perfectly.”

“Standing up. Against the door. Fast, intense.”

He breathed out hard, electric heat sparking through him as his dick throbbed against his pants. Fuck, that was one hot image. “Did I make you come? Like I did all those other times?” he asked, reminding her that he was the first man to bring her to orgasm. His fingertips stroked the denim on her thighs, traveling a path he’d loved when he was younger. She’d loved it, too—falling apart in the back of the car, his hands under her skirt. Her body was such a discovery to him. Learning how she liked to be touched, how she moved, how she felt, so silky hot in his hands. How she sounded when she had her first orgasm. She’d learned all those things, too. They were explorers together, mapping the terrain of her body.

“Yes,” she said on a breathy pant. “I moaned your name. The way you liked it.”

Desire surged in him, climbing up his spine, spreading over his skin. He’d loved the way she’d said his name when she came.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, holding her face tight and firm, and sealed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and rough, the way she liked it now, because she wasn’t the same girl he’d made out with after midnight in the backseat. She was a woman, and he was a man. He needed it harder, rougher, hungrier, too. He drew her bottom lip between his, sucking and nibbling as she writhed closer, wrapping her legs around him.

One hand snaked down her tank, brushing the top of a perfect breast, and he moaned deeply into her mouth then resumed the kiss, a commanding kiss that would leave her lips bruised. She arched her back, seeking more closeness.

Traveling from her breasts to her stomach to her jeans, he flicked open the top button. A clock sounded in his head, awareness that time was ticking, that someone could knock at any moment. The lock was in place, but even so, he wasn’t going to finally fuck her right now. That would happen when he could spread her out on a bed, worship her beautiful body, and kiss every inch of her skin. It would happen when he could bury his face between her legs and taste her sweetness for the first time, making her come. It would happen, too, when she was ready.

His blood heated as he imagined how intense it would be to have her.

There wasn’t time now for all that he wanted, but there were more than enough minutes to make her come. He unzipped her jeans, and she gripped his shoulders, her breath pouring out in a hungry moan. Sliding his hand over the fabric of her panties, his fingertips traced what he suspected was a perfect auburn landing strip waiting for him beneath the lace. He dropped lower, touching the wet panel of her panties.

“And evidently, you’re a bit turned on now, too,” he said, in the understatement of the year.

“Just a tiny bit,” she said, as her lips fell open. Her head rolled back. Legs widened. There was so much want in her eyes. So much need. Wedged between her legs, his cock throbbing and pressed hard against her thigh, he slid his finger inside her panties, brushing wet, swollen lips.

Fuck.

Hot and velvet and so damn wet. For him.

“I can take care of this for you.”

“Please.” Her voice was feathery, a soft, gasping cry.

He wasn’t sure who needed this more—him or her. He desperately wanted to make her lose control, to surrender. Hell, she seemed to crave it like air. Her heady moans, her breathy gasps, told him she was a woman consumed. He could smell her need, could feel it radiating off of her. She was a tuning fork, vibrating at the highest frequency of desire.

He ran his fingers through her slick heat until he was coated in her.

“So good,” she whispered, as he traced circles over her clit.

He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked off her taste. Her green eyes widened, watching him. “How do I taste?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Decadent,” he answered in a growl.

“Give me some,” she demanded.

And that was entirely new. That was not the Annalise he knew before. She’d never demanded to share. He was thrilled at this dirtier side.

“Such a greedy lover,” he teased, as he rubbed his finger over her lips. Instantly, she drew him into her mouth, taking his finger all the way in, sucking off her taste as if she were sucking his cock. His dick twitched, hardening to nearly uncomfortable levels in his pants. But he’d take this torture of bliss. He’d fucking live in it for hours, just to witness the sight of her mad desire. She twirled her tongue around him, as if simulating how she’d take him in her mouth. She’d never done that. He’d never felt her lush lips on his shaft, and now he knew what fantasy he’d be jacking off to tonight.

She looked so good like that. So fucking hot and greedy, her cheeks hollowed out as her lips gripped tight. More. He wanted to see more of this.

Taking his fingers from her mouth, he dipped them across her slick folds again, then returned them to her lips. He fucked her mouth with his fingers, as he brought his other hand between her legs. As he stroked her, he learned her pace quickly—she liked it fast and hard—and he rubbed her clit like that, in perfect, speedy circles.

She moved her hips against his hand, writhing into him. Then, with her tongue, she pushed his fingers out of her mouth, freeing herself to moan, broken words of bliss in her French accent.

Oh God.

So good.

Yes. More. That. Fuck me.

God, there was so much he wanted to say. So many words that threatened to escape his throat. Words like dreamed about you, wanted you for so long, and more, so much more. Words he wouldn’t let himself say because those were only the hormones talking, right?

“Did you fuck yourself like this last night? Thinking of me?” he asked, his voice rough as he plunged his fingers inside her slick heat.

“Yes.”

“Thinking of how much you want me?”

She nodded as she lifted her chin, asking for a kiss.

He dipped his head, crushing his lips to hers, tasting her as he fucked her pussy with his fingers. With his free hand, he gripped the back of her head, holding her tight against his mouth.

But then, in a flash, everything shifted.

She grabbed his hand between her legs, and gripped his wrist. She circled her hips, jerking her body, rising against him, and holding him in place like his hand was a dildo. Holy shit. He’d become her goddamn vibrator as she rocked into his hand in frantic jerks, desperately racing to come.

“Do it,” he growled, urging her on. “Do it till you get there.”

She fucked his hand with reckless, untamed need, clenching tight around his fingers until she moaned into his mouth, her lips falling away from his. She cried out, gasping I’m coming in French.

That was the girl he’d known. She’d always come in French. On his fingers, in his hand, while dry-humping him in a car, in her locked room, in a movie theater once during a high-octane action sequence. Her words always returned to her native language when she soared off the cliff. Hell, her sexy, breathy moans right now were rich with her accent. It made him even harder, and it made him grin, pride suffusing him.

He lowered his mouth, kissing her neck, dragging his teeth across the tender skin, biting her. He needed to mark this woman who’d haunted him. For years, she’d been the yardstick, the dream, the what if fantasy. The trouble was, making her come, watching her lose all control for him, did nothing to abate that pent-up desire for her. The opposite had happened. It stoked the flames. He wanted her more than ever. Wanted to slide his cock inside her, wanted to feel her snug and tight around him, wanted to know what it was like to make love to—no. Not that. To fuck this woman.

She shuddered, her shoulders shaking. It occurred to him that his fingers were still inside her. Gently, he removed them.

She looked up at him from hooded, sated eyes. “I think I treated your hand like a dildo,” she said, a sweet little smirk on her gorgeous face.

“You did. But I’m perfectly okay with you treating my hand, cock, or my mouth as a sex toy anytime you want,” he said, and she laughed. He leaned in, moving his lips to her ear. “Because I want you with every part of me. I want to fuck you in every way,” he told her. “To have you in any way I can.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck. “I want that, too. I want it desperately.”

“So what do you want to do about that?”

He waited for her answer, watching her expression change from one of euphoria to something else entirely, something that looked a lot like regret.

His heart cratered.