Like at all.
“Why are you frowning? Having second thoughts?”
Cannon’s concerned voice pulls me from my brain, and I shake my head, smiling up at him as we head toward the bar on the other side of the hotel’s expansive lobby. “No. Of course not.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze razor sharp. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”
“I would never lie to you,” I tell him sincerely, which is the truth. I’m not a liar. I never have been. Some people tell me I’m honest almost to a fault.
“Then you’re fibbing. You’re trying to cover up something.” He comes to a halt in front of the mostly empty, open front bar, causing me to stop walking as well. “I know what’s wrong.”
“You do?” My voice is hollow, and I clear my throat, reminding myself to look and seem positive. Confident.
“You’re nervous.”
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. All pretense of confidence floats away. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah, but don’t take that as an insult. I’m guessing you don’t usually do this sort of thing.” When I don’t speak, he continues, “Like hang out in hotel bars with random foreign dudes.”
“Foreign dudes?” I start to laugh. “No, I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”
More like I’ve never done this sort of thing. Not with a man I’ve met at a club, or on a blind date, and especially never while I was in school.
He takes a step closer, so close his chest is almost pressed to mine. I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want to do this, I can arrange for a car to take you home.” When I say nothing, he carries on. “I don’t want you uncomfortable.”
My heart melts. He is the sweetest. “Let’s go have a drink,” I say as I reach for both of his hands and hold them in mine.
His gaze never wavers. “Are you sure?”
My brows shoot up. “Are you trying to convince me to leave?”
His answer is swift, his smile…adorable. “Hell no.”
“Buy me a drink then.” I return his smile, and without warning, he leans down, brushing his mouth against mine so quickly, I could almost imagine the kiss didn’t happen.
But it did. And the touch of his soft, warm lips on mine sends a shockwave throughout my whole body, all the way to my toes.
We stay in the hotel bar for over an hour, until we’re the only people left and the bartender is sending us not-so-subtle get out of here looks as he repeatedly wipes down the counters, his arm working in furious circles.
“We should go,” I tell Cannon, my voice reluctant, my gaze lingering on his expressive face. It’s been such a joy talking with him. Smiling when he smiles, laughing when he laughs, touching him when he touches me.
His touches aren’t too forward, and neither are his words, and for once in my life, I want a man to be more forward. I get the sense, though, that he’s reining himself in, for fear I might scare easily? I’m not sure.
I’ve given him all the signs. I’m flirty. I touch his arm a lot. Once I had another drink in me, I dared to touch his knee. Three times. His thigh, twice.
And let me just say his thigh was rock hard and so incredibly warm. My cheeks are heating just thinking about it.
“You’re blushing,” Cannon says, humor lacing his voice. I meet his gaze, a nervous laugh escaping me before I look away. “And you have to tell me why.”
“It’s too embarrassing.” I wave a hand, my fingers almost brushing his nose, we’re sitting so close. The low armchairs in the back of the bar allow for very intimate conversation. I’m sure it was purposely planned.
“Now you definitely have to tell me why.” He reaches out, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing against my skin and making me shiver. “Come on. Don’t hold out on me.”
I decide to draw this out. “Do you really want to know?”
“Hell yeah I do,” he says without hesitation.
Tipping my head closer to him, I lean in, my gaze zeroed in on his. “I was remembering what your—thigh felt like earlier, when I touched you.”
“Really.” His voice is gruff, and his eyes flare with heat.
I nod. “Really.”
“Want to know what I was thinking when you touched my thigh?” His voice has somehow gone even lower, a delicious rumbling along my nerve endings that makes me shiver in anticipation, and I nod slowly, like I’m in a trance.
“How much I wanted your hand to slide up a little higher.”
My gaze drops to his crotch like I have no control over myself, and he chuckles, though there is no humor in the sound.
“You keep looking at me like that and I swear I’ll pop a tent right here in the bar,” he threatens.
I briefly press my lips together as I return my gaze to his. “The only one who’ll see it is me.”
“And the bartender.”
“He’s not paying attention to us.” God, I hope not.
“He’s glaring at us yet again right now.”
I chance a glance over my shoulder to discover Cannon is right. The bartender is glowering in our direction.
“We should go,” I repeat once I face Cannon again.
He lifts his brows. “Ready for me to get you a car?”
“No.” I shake my head, a nervous smile trembling on my lips. “I sort of hoped we could—go back to your room.”
His brows rise even higher. “You sure about that?”
I nod silently. My sudden nerves make me afraid I might say something stupid.
“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and hauls me out of the chair, practically dragging me across the expansive hotel lobby, he’s walking so fast. We stop at the bank of lifts, Cannon stabbing the up button with his index finger, his other hand still curled around mine.
Impatience radiates off his large body and I glance up at him to find him already watching me, his eyes swirling as he studies me. His expression is downright thunderous, his lips thin in pure determination.
My own lips part. I’m about to say something when the doors slide open. We enter the empty car, Cannon reaching out to press the six button repeatedly. The doors close, the elevator starts its ascent, and the next thing I know, I’m being pressed against the wall, Cannon’s arms wrapped around my waist, his body pinning mine.
He covers me so completely, I feel and see nothing but him. Glancing up, I catch him in mid-descent, his mouth hovering above mine for the longest second of my life before our lips finally touch. And the moment that happens, it’s like we’ve ignited a spark. Flipped a switch and turned up the flame.
This is no tentative, hesitant kiss from a new suitor—the types of actual first kisses I’m used to. No, Cannon’s kiss is hungry. Insistent. His mouth is firm yet soft, his lips parted, his tongue eagerly searching for and finding mine. I let him devour me, and the longer it goes on, the more I try my best to devour him in return. I slide my hands up his hard chest, my fingers clutching at the fabric of the shirt, and somewhere in the distance I hear a soft ding, but I refuse to let him go.
“We’re at my floor,” he murmurs against my lips, and I hear a disappointed whimper at his words.
I realize quickly the whimper came from me.
He slips his arm around my shoulders and guides me out of the lift, turns right and leads me down the hall. My head is spinning as we walk, my lips tingling, my entire body feels like it’s caught on fire. I don’t even know how I manage to walk to his room, but suddenly we’re there, and he’s got the key card out, his other arm still holding me, supporting me.
Might I fall to the ground if he lets me go?
Probably.
The door swings open and then we’re inside, the room draped in darkness, the only light shining from the window facing the city street. The curtains cover most of the glass, only a sliver of fabric parted, but it lets in just enough light that I can see the grim determination on Cannon’s face, the damp sheen of his swollen lips, his large hands as they
reach out and cup my cheeks.
He clasps my head in his hands, his thumb drifting across my parted lips. I suck in a loud, shaky breath, my heart thudding wildly, my body taut with anticipation of what he might do next.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers just before he rests his mouth upon mine. My eyes slide closed, savoring the sensation of his lips against mine. This kiss is restrained. Explorative, but careful.
He still cradles my face, his tongue doing a slow, delicious search, and I simply…melt. Brain cells bleed together, my still-rapidly beating heart seems to dissolve, as do my bones and my muscles and my blood. Until I’m a languid heap draped over him, my fingers curled into his shirt fabric once more, like he’s an anchor and I’m about to sink into endless black depths.
My thoughts are chaos. Bordering on dramatic. Intuition kicks in, reminding me that I want to explore and touch and so I do. I let my hands slide up, fingers curling around his broad shoulders and squeezing just before they slide back down, drifting along the buttons of his shirt, brushing against his flat stomach. Feeling greedy, I slip two fingers between the buttons, barely touching his actual skin, and he shudders.
Power filters through me, solidifying what turned to liquid only moments before. He’s still kissing me, his hands still cupping my face, and my trembling fingers undo one shirt button. Then another. And another and another until I’ve undone his entire shirt and my eager hands push the fabric aside. I break the kiss and step out of his hold so I can stare at the masculine beauty that is Cannon Whittaker’s chest.
And it is a sight to behold. He’s large and firm and there are muscles everywhere. His stomach is flat and ridged. There’s dark hair curling between his pecs, a line of it starting just below his navel and disappearing into his trousers.
My mouth waters. I want to follow that trail with my tongue.
“You’re starin’ at me like you want to eat me up.”
His rough voice startles me and I glance up at him, see the matching hunger that’s driving me in his eyes. “I think I do,” I tell him, immediately wanting to roll my eyes at myself. “Want to eat you up.”
He laughs. Shakes his head. Reaching for me, his hands are at my waist before he spins me around so my back is to him. He steps closer, pressing his body against mine, and I can feel him, heavy and hard, nestled against my backside.
I stare at the wall ahead of me, gulping. I want this. I do. But I’m realizing that once I commit to tonight, there’s no turning back. As in, I’m going for it.
What will happen tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that? He’ll leave, and I’ll still be here.
Alone.
“I wanna take this off,” he whispers close to my ear, his fingers playing with the zip at the top of my dress. “Will you let me, Lady Susanna?”
I smile despite my nerves and worry. Calling me Lady Susanna at a time like this is amusing. No man I know would say it. Only the brash American would think it funny.
He steps away from me and I immediately miss his closeness. His heat. He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to answer.
Bending my head down, I brush my hair to the right, putting the back of my dress on display. Hopefully he’ll know what I want without having to say a word.
I don’t know what she wants.
Damn it, I’ve never been good at reading a woman’s mind. What guy is any good at it? I know married men, guys who are fucking happy as shit in their relationships, and they complain that they’re not mind readers and that sometimes they don’t know what their woman wants.
So of course, at this very moment, I’m clueless.
But the longer she stands there silently before me, like an offering, the quicker I figure out what she’s doing. The zipper is on full display and I reach out and grab it, undoing it with shaky fingers.
The fabric parts slowly, revealing her smooth skin, her nude-colored bra. The zipper stops at the base of her spine, and I catch a glimpse of lacy panties. Just like that, I’m hard.
Truthfully, I’ve been hard for about the last hour, but now I’m well and truly popping a tent in my pants.
“I must confess something.”
Her soft voice reaches me seconds after she said the actual words, and I blink myself back into focus. “What’s up?”
She turns her head, glancing at me from over her shoulder, her lips curved. I probably sounded like an idiot just now, asking her what’s up. I can definitely tell her what’s up. All she’s gotta do is look at my dick and see. “I’m not wearing sexy underwear.”
I check out the back of her bra again. Looks pretty standard. My gaze drops to where the zipper dangles, right above a lacy waistband. “I might have to argue with you.”
“No, it’s true.” She turns to face me, the dress crumpling forward, revealing the tops of her shoulders. They’re slender and smooth and I want to kiss them. “My bra is—industrial strength.”
I’m confused. Frowning. “Say what?”
“I have.” She pauses. Shrugs, her cheeks coloring. “Rather large breasts. And so I always tend to—restrain them.”
Well, that’s a damn shame. I’m tempted to tell her that, but I can see this conversation pains her, and I don’t to make this any more embarrassing, so instead, I reach for her. Pull her into my arms so she’s snug against me, her body fitting to mine like a just-found piece to my life puzzle.
Whoa, getting ahead of yourself there.
“Can I see them?” I ask her as I study her face. She’s so damn pretty. Skin smooth and pink, eyes blue as the sky and a pert little nose. There’s a hint of curl around her hairline, and I wonder if this straight hair thing she’s got going on isn’t natural.
I like the idea of her hair being curly. Wild.
She wrinkles her nose. “This is the strangest pre-sex conversation I’ve ever had.”
My blood turns hot at her words. “So you’re saying we’re going to have sex?” I tell myself not to get my hopes up too high, but she did say pre-sex, so...
“Isn’t that what we’re leading up to?”
“Yeah.” I briefly kiss her, and when I pull away, her lips follow after mine, like she doesn’t want to stop. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Right.” She touches my chest, her fingers branding my bare skin. “Same here.”
“Are you sure?” Again with the asking. But I’m not going to push her into anything she doesn’t want to do. She has to know the score. This is meaningless.
Just fun.
No strings.
“So sure,” she murmurs just before she leans in and presses her damp lips to my chest. That first touch is like a jolt of electricity to my junk, and when she keeps kissing me, her tongue darting out to lick my nipple, well fuck.
A man can restrain himself for only so long.
I grab hold of her and pick her up, carrying her over to the bed. She’s a squealing, squirming woman in my arms, her constant movement causing her dress to become looser and looser, and when I basically toss her onto the bed, the sleeves fall completely off her arms, leaving her bare above the waist except for the bra.
And she’s not wrong when she described it as industrial. That sucker is holding her breasts in so well, I can hardly see them. Just a hint of cleavage. Smooth, creamy skin.
My fingers are itching to touch her there.
I join her on the bed and kiss her, one hand on her cheek, the other moving to her back, fingers fumbling with the bra clasp. It takes a couple of attempts—her tongue in my mouth is a total distraction—but I finally undo it. She’s so caught up in the kiss, she doesn’t seem to notice when I push the straps from her shoulders, helping them slide down until they’re at her elbows. And when I break the kiss and pull away from her, she keeps her eyes closed while I take her bra completely off and toss it onto the floor.
Her eyes fly open as realization sets in, one arm shifting to cover her abundant chest. But all she manages to do is cover her nipples and plump her breast
s up, making them look even sexier.
“Stop,” I tell her, gently removing her arm away from her chest and then pressing two fingers against her shoulder. “Lay down.”
She does as I ask, her eyes never leaving mine as she slowly lowers her head onto the pillow. Her breasts are full and lush and topped with perfectly pink, perfectly hard nipples. Her dress is now bunched up around her waist, so I reach for the fabric and tug down, quickly removing it so now she’s lying before me in a pair of lacy cream-colored panties and nothing else.
“You look pretty fuckin’ sexy to me,” I tell her as I sweep my hands along the sides of her legs, my fingers sliding over her thighs until I’m pushing them apart. “I like your panties.”
“Cannon,” she says, like I’m in trouble, but her voice is too shaky and breathless for me to take her seriously.
She likes what I’m saying. And how I’m touching her.
“Whatcha got under here?” I ask as my fingers toy with the side of her underwear. The fabric is thin. I could tear those panties right off her without any trouble, but I don’t want to scare the woman.
“I think you know what I’ve got under there,” she says, a full body shudder overtaking her when I slip my fingers inside and encounter pubic hair.
“Hmm, I think I’ll wait.” I remove my hand from her panties and shift over her, dropping my head to her chest. I kiss her there, pressing my lips to the center where I can feel her wildly beating heart. I turn my attention to one breast, kissing and licking, nibbling her skin while I caress her other breast with busy fingers. Circling and circling, making that nipple extra hard while I continue to kiss and lick her right breast.
“Oh God,” she gasps when I draw her nipple into my mouth and give it a firm pull. I pinch the other nipple while I continue to suck and she bucks beneath me, as if I’ve shocked her. I trade off to the other nipple, sucking and pinching, licking and biting. She’s clawing at my back, her nails sharp even through the fabric of my shirt, and I yank away from her, shoving my shirt off so it falls onto the floor.
I press her into the mattress, covering her entire body with mine, my hips between her thighs, my bare chest against hers. My mouth finds hers and we kiss wildly, tongues and teeth everywhere, her moans already driving me to the brink. I touch her everywhere I can reach and she does the same, those fluttering hands hovering over my dick. Unable to help myself, I press against her palm, give her exactly what she’s been seeking, and when she starts stroking me, I swear to fucking God, I see stars.
Thinking About You Page 4
