“Come with me,” he says, his voice just a rough growl.
I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but without hesitating, I place my hand in his. And then we’re heading toward the elevators as quickly as our feet will carry us.
He stabs the button for the fifteenth floor as anticipation races through me. He must have gotten a room for the night when I went to the restroom. Awfully ballsy of him. How he had time to pay our bill and reserve a hotel room, I’m not sure.
The elevator doors slip closed, and then we’re alone in the small space, my pulse humming. My brain is screaming at me to abort this idiotic mission. There’s no way I can be alone with Sterling Quinn in a hotel room and resist doing something naked and slippery.
“You look worried,” he says, sliding up beside me. His fingertips are on my chin, lifting my mouth to his for a soft kiss. “Don’t be.”
His whisper of breath over my lips is so soft and tender, I want to melt into his arms.
After another tender kiss, the elevator stops. When the doors open, Sterling presses one hand against my lower back and guides me down the hall.
We’ve been building toward this very moment since the first meeting we had at that sexy, swanky restaurant. It suddenly occurs to me—maybe he’s wanted this all along.
But why? Am I a distraction from his looming wedding? Or is he as attracted to me as I am to him? And more importantly, is that where this all ends—with physical attraction—and once the itch is scratched, we’ll each move on with our lives?
That’s the most likely scenario; even my lust-and-wine-soaked brain knows that.
And still, I want this. I close my eyes and make a silent promise to myself. Whatever happens tonight, I vow not to regret it in the morning.
The hotel room is simple, yet elegant. Sterling flips on a lamp, and while I check out the view from the balcony, he excuses himself to the restroom.
I hear the water running, and unsure what else to do with myself, I go to the minibar and grab two glasses. I screw off the top of a miniature bottle of whiskey and dump half of it in each glass, startling slightly as the low rumble of his voice comes from behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a nightcap,” I say, raising one glass to him. The truth is, I need something for my nerves. My hands are shaky and my stomach is in knots.
We clink glasses and each take a sip.
Fuck. That burns. I must make a grimace, because Sterling looks at me with sympathy, then takes my glass and sets it on the dresser.
“Come here.” His mouth lowers to mine, and his hands slide into my hair.
All the tension, all the worry I had slips away. I forgot what an amazing kisser this man is. He tastes of whiskey and sin, and I want more.
He breaks away too quickly, watching my eyes like he’s looking to be sure I want this. I give him a small nod. Taking my hand, Sterling leads me to the bed.
We kiss like that for a long time, our backs against the headboard, his hands on my jaw, our mouths fused together like we’re both afraid if we stop, the spell will be broken and we’ll have to go back to our real lives. In real life there are sick moms and medical bills, credit-card drama, and obligations a mile long. But here, now, there’s only his warm mouth devouring mine in a hungry frenzy. I can taste the smoky flavor of the whiskey lingering on his tongue.
Pressure builds inside as the ache between my legs intensifies. I grip his biceps, loving the solid feel of him beneath my fingers. Corded muscle and broad shoulders, his body is built for sex.
He touches between my legs, lightly at first, and meets my gaze. Within seconds, my eyes slip closed, and my legs part further in silent permission. He moves his hand under my dress and begins rubbing over my tights while I writhe on the bed, wanting so much more. He places my hand on his cock, showing me that he wants me to touch him too. I wrap my fingers around the solid mass, loving the grunt that rips from his chest as I squeeze.
Deepening our connection, he positions us so we’re lying side by side. His fingers push past my tights and slip into my underwear. I follow suit, shoving my hand into his pants to find him hard, hot, and ready.
If there’s one area he excels in, it’s foreplay. There’s nothing about this that’s rushed. We’re still just kissing, our hands roaming as the moment builds.
Sterling is applying just the right amount of pressure, right where I need him, and I break from his kiss to tell him.
“More . . .” I beg.
“I need to taste that sweet cunt again, love.” He kisses my lips. “Are you going to come on my tongue again?”
A low moan is the only answer I can give him.
He takes off my dress, and I expect my bra and tights will be next, but he surprises me by pushing my hips backward so I fall onto the bed. The look in his eyes is domineering, almost predatory, as he places his hands on either side of me and leans over my body. Pressing wet kisses on my throat, my chest, my belly, he continues moving lower until I can feel his hot breath ghosting over my center.
Then there’s a tug and a ripping sound, and I open my eyes to find he’s torn my tights apart, right there, so my pussy is exposed to his hot mouth.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss three inches north of where I really need him.
I rock forward, unable to stop my body’s shameless need to get closer. I remember all too well what that tongue can do.
With his hands on my thighs, holding them apart, he gives me a flirty wink before lowering his mouth.