It took only fifteen minutes to get from the lagoon to the condo, but those fifteen minutes were like an excruciating, delicious eternity. My heart stuttered the entire drive, sitting next to Colin in the back of the hired car. He took my hand and squeezed.
Some men would have tried to make out in the car, oblivious to the driver. Yes, some men would have tried more. Not Colin. I thought he would try to edge closer to me, but he stayed several frustrating inches away—yet close enough that I could smell his soap.
He was in command of the situation, chatting with the driver about the volcano and the weather as if we did this all the time together, all the while stroking my palm slowly with his thumb. Each stroke pulled something low inside my belly, anticipation and arousal building by the moment.
It was at once chaste and lascivious and made me impossibly wet.
By the time we reached the condo elevator, I was edgy and needy and wanted him in ways I hadn't wanted a man in years. Didn't know I could want a man in that way anymore. He pressed the button for our floor, then leaned back and regarded me with a sexy smirk.
"Isn't a passionate elevator kiss such a cliché?" he said. What a tease.
I played along, leaning against the opposite wall, although I was shaky inside and drenched in other places. And wouldn't have minded a kiss one bit. "A tiresome cliché. I agree."
We grinned at each other, and he licked his bottom lip. Oh, he was wicked.
Neither of us touched in the hallway or when he paused to open the door.
But as soon as we were inside and the snick of the lock echoed through the sparse space, everything exploded.
I wasn't sure who reached for whom. Was it me who flung myself toward his body? Or was it him who growled and pinned me against the hallway wall?
"Goddammit, Samantha." He was back to kissing me hot and hard, and I matched him with my own need to consume. He grasped a fistful of my hair with certainty, more certainty than any man in memory.
Like I was his. For the night, for the weekend, forever. It didn't matter. It only mattered that I was in his arms and eager to do whatever he wanted.
"What?" I murmured, trying to tease. I fluttered my eyes shut and inhaled.
"I haven't wanted someone like this in years. Maybe ever, in my life." His voice was hoarse, fierce.
"Oh, really?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
"Really." When he bent to scoop me into his arms, I considered his words. Certainly in my younger days men had made such declarations. They were words of lust. My ex had had plenty of them in rotation, and I'd believed them. Until he'd proved they were lies, all to make me part with the money I'd earned.
I'd assumed that, at my age, no man would ever say those words again to me.
And now that one had with such conviction—and with raspy, carnal neediness—I wasn't sure what to think.
We made our way to the bedroom, and Colin set me on the bed and stretched on top of me, his body engulfing mine.
"Do you want to close the curtains so it's dark?" I asked. The room was bathed in silvery light, and along the horizon the nighttime sun peeked between clouds.
Colin propped himself on his elbows and stared at me. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Why wouldn't I want to look at your beautiful body and your gorgeous face when I fuck you? Because that's what I'm going to do." He said this while staring into my eyes, pressing his hips ever so slightly into mine. We were on a diagonal on the bed, fully clothed—our shoe-clad feet dangling off the edge—and yet it was erotic. A little dirty. Kind of like how he'd touched my palm with his thumb in the car. A fresh wave of wetness surged between my legs.
YOU ARE READING
Tell Me a FantasyChickLit
Samantha Citrouille's anxiety won't stop her from attending London Fashion Week and collecting a lifetime industry award. After all, when iconic designer Karl Lagerfeld requests your presence at an exclusive party, you have to jump on a plane. Even...