Wanted By You

by Steph Nuss

  I felt my eyes widen and hold her warm gaze. Finally, we were in a place where we didn't have to curb our appetite for one another. I started to lean in and was engulfed in the irresistible smell of citrus again. She was the reason I couldn't eat an orange without getting a hard-on. The feel of her hands on my neck, pulling me close, and the way her scent mixed with the silkiness of her sweet voice, made me want to feed the hunger. Her smile faded and she shut her eyes, cupping the back of my neck. My mouth practically watered with the thought of finally having a taste of her sweet, luscious mouth, but I swallowed it back. I tightened my grip on her hips and bent down instead. Her hands slipped off my neck, and I heard her exhale in disappointment and then gasp when I pressed a kiss against her bruised knee.

  She took deep, eager breaths, and I continued pressing kisses around her knee, along the outer edge and toward the back. Her fingers ran through my hair, and mine ran down the backs of her calves and back up along her thighs, making her squirm closer to the edge. She massaged my scalp, sending chills down my spine. Touching her like this brought everything into reality. The feel of her skin against mine confirmed that she wasn't just a figment of my imagination anymore. I'd lain awake at night imagining moments like this with her. Moments where I was touching her and everything about us was intimate. Not friendly or casual, but ravenous, sexual, needy, as if time had flipped a switch on us.

  I still lay awake at night wondering what it would be like to have her curled up next to me, to start and end each day showering her with love and affection. But right now, she wasn't part of my imagination. She was real, sitting here in a dress that fit her like a glove, wearing heels I'd want her to keep on, and I wanted every little piece of her that she'd let me have.

  When I looked up into her eyes, she was watching me. I moved up her body and placed my hands on top of the desk on either side of her. Leaning into her, I grinned slowly and then ran my thumb over her bottom lip. "Any better?"

  She nodded quickly, sucking in another breath, and her teeth pulled at the lip my thumb just grazed.

  When did she start biting her lip like that? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to restrain the urge to take her right here on top of her desk with Justin and Tessa outside in the lobby. The way she bit at her bottom lip made the strain inside my slacks even more painful as I imagined how good it'd feel to have those lips wrapped around my dick. She had to quit biting her lip while we were at work.

  "Come over tonight."

  She looked surprised at my abrupt request and then moved her gaze down to her lap and closed her eyes. I stood up straighter and lifted her chin so she would look me in the eye, so she could see that I wanted a whole lot more than just sex. I smiled at her and cradled her round face in my hands before moving them through her long, red hair. God, she had gorgeous hair. I couldn't wait to see how gorgeous it was splayed across my pillow.

  "I want to be alone with you." I pulled her bottom lip from her teeth and stared down at the soft pink flesh; grazed my thumb over it again. "I want to kiss your lips, but when I kiss you for the very first time, I want to have you all to myself so I can spend hours memorizing your lips." I looked into her eyes and listened to the sound of her soft, deep breaths. "Come over tonight."

  "Okay." She nodded and hopped down from the desk. Pulling at the hem of her dress, she righted herself and looked at her appearance in the mirror hung on the wall. Her hard nipples underneath her dress, the pulse racing in the hollow of her throat, and the slight blush still evident on her soft, pale cheeks proved just how much her knee loved my attention. She smiled up at me and brushed her hand across my stubbly jaw. "I can come over after dinner."

  "I'll text you my address," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. I opened the message she'd sent me earlier and replied with my address. "There."

  "I'm looking forward to it," she said, leading us out of her office and back to our friends.

  Alone time couldn't come soon enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Ellyson

  After eating dinner with Mrs. J., I came home to grab my things and do one last check of my appearance before heading over to Carter's. I had on a pair of short cargo shorts with a brown belt, a navy V-neck tee, and brown flip-flops. I reapplied a layer of lip gloss and ran a hand through my natural waves. To say I was excited about seeing him again would be an understatement. I was practically on cloud sixty-nine after his little performance at lunch, his gentle kisses against my knee alerting me to an erogenous zone I hadn’t even known existed. All of it made me wet, craving more, and I spent the rest of my afternoon imagining what tonight would be like. There was no denying our feelings any longer. The way he asked me to come over and talked about memorizing my lips, his voice, deep and a bit needy, made goose bumps peak over my skin as I replayed his words in my mind. His voice alone enticed; add in a tall, chiseled body, rugged good looks, and a pinch of mischief, and it was the recipe for a salacious Ellyson Evans. Serving size: as much as Carter Jennings wants.

  I stepped out of the hall, grabbing my purse and my keys from the kitchen island, and I locked up. I trotted down the steps of my building and hailed a cab. Ten minutes later, I stood in front of Carter's door, waiting. He can't answer unless you knock, Elly.

  Duh. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I already felt like I’d left my brain at home and I hadn't even laid eyes on him yet. I knocked twice and a few seconds later, I heard the knob turning and my heart pounding in my ears.

  He opened the door and there he stood, wearing nothing but black Nike shorts, beads of water dripping from his wet hair onto his perfect golden skin. "Hey, come on in," he said, running a towel through his messy hair. I immediately wished I was the towel. I felt my breath catch and the familiar ache between my legs begin again watching him move the towel along his shoulders and neck and down over his shredded six pack. I walked into the apartment and he closed the door behind me.

  He walked into the kitchen, and my attention turned to his backside as he reached into the fridge. His shorts hung delectably low on his hipbones in the same way all his pants did, showing off the beautiful ass my hands were itching to grab. His muscles strained against his skin, and I leaned back against the small kitchen island to curb the desire to reach out and touch him—or possibly faint just from looking at him.

  He turned back around and that's when I noticed the tattoo on his left side. He definitely did not have that in college. He slid a bottle of beer over to me and ran the towel through his hair again. "Sorry, I just got home a little bit ago from playing basketball with the guys. I wanted to get in a quick shower before you got here."

  Like that's something to be sorry about.

  I looked into his chocolate brown eyes and smiled. "That's okay."

  He laughed and walked around the island toward me as I took a sip from my beer. Every time he moved, the invigorating, crisp scent of his soap drifted along with him, sending my nostrils into nosgasms breathing him all in. He stood behind me and grabbed my waist before leaning into my ear and whispering, in a sexy voice that sent shivers down my spine, "I'm gonna go grab a shirt."

  No, please don't. Stay shirtless.

  I turned around, smiling. "Wait." His eyes darkened and he stared down at me with a glimmer of hope, waiting to see whatever I had in mind. I lifted his left arm from his side and felt the warmth radiating off of him as I pointed to his tattoo. "You got a tattoo!? Who are you and what have you done with Carter?" I laughed, and he looked at the Roman numerals etched over his ribs and smiled. I stared at it, trying to remember the Roman numeric system and what letters meant what. Is were ones. Vs were fives. Xs were tens. What the hell did M mean? I didn't even know there was an M! Ugh. Damn Romans.

  "Yeah," he said, lowering his arm. "I got it a while back."

  I stepped closer to him and heard his breath hitch when I ran my hand over the black ink. "Well, what does it mean? I can't remember what the M stands for in Roman numerals."

  "M is a thousand. I t
hink I'll let you figure it out on your own." He gripped my hips tighter and narrowed his eyes. "Maybe torture you a bit."

  I angled my head up at him and sighed, and then a light bulb lit up. In the past, I could get Carter to cave by simply batting my eyelashes and shooting him an innocent smile. I brushed the dust off my old trick and did just that: batted my lashes and smiled innocently, engaging make-Carter-cave mode. "Please just tell me," I said softly, running my hands over his torso for added effect (and my own pleasure). The dusting of dark hair covering his skin and the feel of his rigid muscles beneath my fingers intensified the need tightening in my belly. His breath hitched again as my right hand traced over his tattoo and my smile turned wicked at thoughts of him slowly giving in.

  But he grabbed my wrists and dropped them to my sides. He stepped closer and lifted my chin, towering over me. In that moment, I missed my heels. The added height felt like more leverage. "No," he quipped, with devilish grin, "and just so you know, that little trick doesn't work anymore. You're gonna have to up your game, babe."

  He winked and playfully smacked my ass before walking away, laughing. I sighed and downed more of my beer. Up my game. He needed to up his game. Walking around his apartment all wet and naked and torturous, and then apologizing for it, drawing my attention to him, as if it wasn't already there? . . . Okay, so his game didn't need upping. His game was downright excellent. I could figure out what his tattoo said all on my own. Focus, Elly, and figure this out: VIII.XXVI.MMIV.

  A V and three I's is eight. Two X's is twenty, and a V plus an I are six; so that's twenty-six. If M meant a thousand, then two Ms meant two thousand, and an I and a V meant four, so that's two thousand four. Eight. Twenty-six. Two thousand four.

  I was trying to figure out what those three numbers meant—if they had anything in common or if they added up to a number significant to him—when he walked back into the living room wearing a white shirt and laughing. "What are you laughing at?"

  "You," he said, taking my hand in his. "You looked deep in thought. Figure it out yet?"

  He led us over to the couch and motioned for me to sit. I exhaled a deep breath. "I figured out what the numbers are, but I don't know what they mean. Eight. Twenty-six. Two thousand four. Am I supposed to add them up or something? Do any form of math?" And then the light bulb lit up again. "Ooh, is it a date?!"

  He laughed and picked up a box, and then made his way back over to the couch. "No math involved. It is a date." He sat down and unfolded the cardboard top, sliding his devious gaze over at me and perking up his brows in amusement. "Keep thinking."

  Damn him. If it was a date, I didn't know its significance. In fact, I'm pretty sure I didn't even know him then. College started two days later on the twenty-eighth of August. I gazed over at the box and decided to put his tattoo and its significance on the back burner. "Pics and frames?"

  "Yeah."

  I scooted closer to him on the couch and waited to see what kind of pictures he had. During college, he never hung any up; never had any sort of wall décor besides the beer signs with hot women on them that Cash put up in their apartment. "My sister was over here the other day and she thinks I need to decorate."

  I laughed and looked around at the walls. They were white and bare and the mantelpiece looked lonely with nothing sitting on top of it. "This place does need some decorating." He reached in and pulled out a framed photo of him and his family. I couldn't remember which sister was which. "Your family's really beautiful."

  He smiled over at me and nodded. "Yeah, that was taken a few years ago."

  I nodded and took the frame from him. I smiled at all their similar features. Carter and his brunette sister looked like their dad while his blonde sister looked like their mom. The five of them posed together made them look like southern royalty, the perfect pedigree—and I guess, in a way they were, with all the oil money they made. "Which sister lives here in New York?"

  "Harper, the one with brown hair. The blonde is Bayler. She's still in Texas but wants to move here once her internship's over with."

  I nodded and watched him pull another picture out of the box. He handed it to me and set the family photo above the fireplace. This one was a picture of just him and his sisters, laughing in front of a beautifully lit Christmas tree. "Your sisters are really pretty," I said, standing up to place the frame next to the other. "And your dad is really hot." I admired the family picture one more time before turning around and meeting his gaze. He got up and walked over to me carrying another picture of our group of friends from college, which he placed next to the others. "The Jennings men must keep getting better with age." I tapped my hand lightly against his chest and winked. "That's something to look forward to."

  "So, you think I'm hot?" He rummaged through the box and grabbed four more picture frames, grinning at me mischievously.

  I took a sip from my beer and shook my head. "No, but I think you'll get better with age." He rolled his eyes and I laughed. He came back over and sat down next to me on the couch. He invited me into the nook of his shoulder and I took full advantage of his invitation, pressing into his side. "But the good news is that your hearing already sucks, so you're almost there."

  He laughed, running his hand down my arm and over to my waist. "You're gonna wish you never said that." His fingers pinched my waist and then he started tickling me. I quickly pushed away from him but he caught me with his other hand and had me on my back over his lap and breathless from laughter. Breathless or not, he had his hands on me and I was reveling in it. There was no way I was going to beg him to stop. Tickle me, touch me. Same thing.

  He was laughing, but as my tears started to fall, he stopped. "You weren't gonna make me stop, were you?"

  Panting and smiling, I shook my head. Why would I want to do something stupid like that?

  His laughter turned into a smile that seemed to say he knew exactly what I was thinking. He knew I loved his hands on me because I knew he enjoyed touching me. It was obvious, since I could feel the bulge in his shorts pressing into my back. "I have a few more things to hang up, and then I wanna hear about everything in your life I've missed out on. Do you need another beer?"

  I nodded and sat up. He stood, and I watched his beautiful backside walk into the kitchen. When he turned and caught me staring, I blushed and turned my attention back to the box. I found a signed picture of the 1992 Summer Olympics men's basketball team—also known as the "Dream Team." They brought home the gold that year. When Carter came back into the living room and handed me a beer, I pointed at the picture. "Did you know this team was the first American Olympic team to have active NBA players on it?" My dad had the same picture sitting next to the gold medal in his trophy case.

  "Yeah, I did," he said, smiling. He took the framed photo from me like it was a prized possession. "I know I was only five, but I remember watching these guys play. It was the first Olympics I ever really watched."

  "I know; same here," I said, carrying the box over to the back wall of the living room where he stood hanging the picture. I helped him hang the rest of his collection and admired the variety. He had autographed baseballs and a couple of footballs. There were autographed jerseys, authentic game programs, and ticket stubs. This was one trait of Carter's that I had immediately fallen in love with back in college: his love for the game; any game.

  He threw his arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. He'd done this a thousand times during college but it had never felt the way it did right now: like we weren't just two friends hanging out, but two people coming together to form one. For the first time, it wasn't causal or friendly.

  "Let's go sit down," he said.

  I grabbed the empty box and carried it with us, but before I threw it with the others, I peered inside to make sure we got everything out of it, and that's when I noticed the white envelope sitting at the bottom. "Hey, there's an envelope in here." I grabbed it out and sat down next to him on the couch. "Do I wanna know what's in this? A mysterious white envelo
pe at the bottom of all your things kinda screams porn collection."

  He laughed, shaking his head. "It's nothing bad, just a bunch of old pictures from college," he said, lifting my legs into his lap. He slipped off my sandals and nodded toward my end of the couch. "Sit back and stretch out your legs." I complied, loving his authoritative tone. He started rubbing my feet, and his strong, calloused hands sent tingles through my legs all the way up to my vagina.

  Holy mother of massages …

  His fingers felt like heaven against my skin, massaging away the aches and pains from my high heels. I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the arm of the couch with a blissful sigh. "That feels amazing."

  "It should, since you walk around in heels all day," he said, kneading the bottom of my left foot. "I'm not complaining. You look sexy as hell in them." Did he just … did he just refer to me as sexy as hell. Victory! John Bender fist bump! His eyes met mine before running down the length of my outstretched body and his hands continued their magic. "You look even better all stretched out on my couch," he murmured, kissing my ankle, and heightening the sensations further. He looked at me and my gaze landed on his lips. I wanted a taste of him, but his hands caressing my feet would suffice for now. I couldn't move even if I wanted to in the trance he had me in. "So, what have I missed?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked, wrinkling my forehead. If he was talking about what places he had missed with his lips, then the answer was everywhere. If he was talking about something else, I didn't know what it was because he just kissed me and he was massaging me, which meant I was floating around somewhere in la-la land.

  "I mean, in your life," he said, laughing. "What have I missed?"

  "Nothing, really," I said, looking over at his DVD collection. Nothing permanent at least, like getting a tattoo. If he didn't make my legs feel like Jell-O, I'd move them out of his lap and demand that he tell me what—