Chapter 69

“The date’s over. You didn’t answer my call, and I was worried. So I came by to check on you.”

Well, damn if that didn’t cut deep. He didn’t want her concern. He wanted— Fuck.

This was pointless. He shifted his gaze from her to the wine on the table. He’d had enough alcohol for one night. Shoving away from her, he turned and headed toward the door.

“Well, you can see for yourself that I’m fine. No need to worry.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, he walked out and toward his bedroom. “Lock up behind yourself.”

“Nick.” Her fingers wrapped around his arm, drawing him to a halt. Since he couldn’t drag her with him, he stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I lied.” She circled him, coming to stand in front of him. Her throat worked as her lips parted, but no words emerged. Dropping her hand from his arm, she glanced away. “I...”

He didn’t speak. Was frankly afraid to. Afraid of what would escape his mouth.

She skimmed her palms down the sides of her thighs, and his own hands tingled with the need to trace that same path.

“Yes, I was worried about you, but that isn’t why I came by.” She paused, gave a minute shake of her head, and a curl clung to her dark red-painted lips before she brushed it away. Hell. How ridiculous did it make him that he wanted to throw down with that strand of hair for the privilege it just enjoyed? “The truth... The truth is the date went great. Wonderful, even. Stoner was perfect, so was the food and conversation. But—” she lifted her gaze back to his, and his chest rose on a harsh, deep inhalation “—the entire time, I couldn’t shake the feeling of it being...wrong. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re my friend—my best friend, Nick. I shouldn’t have been sitting there regretting answering the phone last week. Shouldn’t have been wondering what would’ve happened if I’d ignored it. Shouldn’t have...” Her voice trailed off, but her fingers lifted, trembled just over her lips. “Shouldn’t have been wanting your mouth on mine. Feeling it there. Needing it there again,” she whispered.

Nick briefly closed his eyes. Lust howled and snapped inside him, and only the most threadbare of bindings kept him in place. Prevented him from charging forward and crowding her against the nearest wall. Stopped him from hauling her in his arms and giving her his mouth and his cock.

At his continued silence, she staggered back a step. “I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, dipping her chin. “Shit.” Wincing, she edged around him. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have—I crossed a line, and... Dammit, we’re friends...”

“Michelle.” Heart a primal drum in his chest, he shifted, blocking her path. Jesus, how could he speak, or fucking think, with so much need pumping through him? “Look at me.”

“No, it’s all right. I’m—”

“Don’t make me beg.” That had her gaze jerking up to his. He moved closer. And closer still until only a breath of space separated them. “Because I will. You have that much power over me.” He bowed his head, whispered in her ear, “And I almost resent you for that.”

Her soft, shaky gasp kissed his cheek, quivered over his dick. “Nick.” Her fingers fumbled at his hips, then hooked into the waist of his pants, holding on to him.

“What, Michelle?” He moved forward, ushering her backward until her back met the wall. Pressing his forearms on either side of her head, he surrounded her. And she besieged him —her scent, her warmth, the short, fast breaths on his skin. He was under her sensual assault, and fuck if he wasn’t a willing prisoner of war. "Tell me what you want. Make it clear.”

She didn’t reply to his demand, but a hard shiver wracked her body, and it ricocheted through him even though the slimmest of spaces remained between them. He straightened his arms, levering back so he could peer down into her face. Glimpse the confusion and—God—desire that darkened her eyes to near black. Note her hesitation in the cinching of her eyebrows, the tightening of her lush mouth.

“You need me to say it?” he asked. When she tentatively nodded, he cupped her cheek then slid his hand into her hair, bunching the thick mass in his fist. “I can do that for you.”

He surrendered to the driving urge to taste her. Just a little. He brushed his lips over her forehead. Over the bridge of her nose. At the corner of her mouth. He lifted his head, his pulse deafening in his head. Too far. He was pushing himself too far, too fast.

“You need me to take your mouth like I did in that club. Take it, bruise it, make you feel me long after the kiss is ended. But you don’t want it to end, do you? You’ve been thinking about my hands on you.” His voice deepened, roughened. Hunger twisted inside him, grabbing him, insisting he satiate it. “Wondering if I’d cup your breasts, mold them in my hands, or if I’d start with these pretty nipples.” He dipped his head, taking in the hard tips clearly outlined beneath her dress. Beautiful. So damn beautiful and he needed them between his lips, on his tongue. He shook his head, raising his gaze back to hers. Jesus, what had he been saying? “You’ve been thinking about how I could give this petite, gorgeous body pleasure. How I’d push into you, filling you...” His mouth hovered just above hers, and he tasted each pant that painted her lips. “Fucking you.”

She closed her eyes, that full, tempting mouth trembling. That wouldn’t do. He craved the weight of that gaze on him.

“Eyes on me,” he softly ordered. Once she complied, he cocked his head. “How did I do, Michelle? Did I get it right?”

“Yes.” Her grip on his waist tightened, pulled harder. “God, yes.”

That moaned word splintered the last of his control.

He captured her mouth, plunging his tongue between her lips in a swift, carnal attack. They were past shy, gentle introductions. No, he consumed her like a lover who’d been here often. And he had.

In his dreams, he’d conquered her sweet mouth many times before. He was a fucking connoisseur of her mouth.