Page 113 of The Auction
The city blurs by in streaks of yellow light and shadow, every turn pulling us closer to my building. I don’t slow until I have to, coasting us into my private garage.
I glance back at her, and she lifts the visor, her eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the wind. She looks… wrecked in the best way.
“Fun?” I ask, knowing the answer.
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “More than fun.”
I swing off the bike, unfasten the helmet from her head, and set it aside. She starts to slide off, but I catch her around the waist and lift her down myself. Another glimpse of black lace again nearly breaks my last shred of patience.
I sling the backpack to the ground and pin her against the bike, my palms braced on either side of her. My mouth is on hers in an instant, swallowing her moan.
“Upstairs. Now.”
She doesn’t tease. Just nods, like she wants it as badly as I do.
The second I hit the button for the penthouse, we collide—mouths crashing together, hands everywhere. Her nails bite through my shirt, my palms gripping her hips, sliding over the curve of her ass to pull her in tight.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done to me, Cricket,” I growl against her lips. “And when I’m done with you, you’ll never want anyone else touching you again.”
She makes a sound in the back of her throat that damn near undoes me.
The elevator hums upward, but I don’t even register the floors passing. It’s just her—her scent, her heat, the way she moves against me like we’ve been doing this for years.
The doors slide open, and I don’t waste a second. I hook an arm under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She gasps and clings to my neck, kissing me like she’s afraid to stop.
I carry her straight into my bedroom, dropping my keys somewhere along the way. The city lights spill through the massive windows, washing her in silver.
I set her down on the edge of the bed but keep my hands on her, my forehead pressed to hers. “Tell me to slow down, and I will. Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t stop.” Her fingers trace my jaw, her voice soft but certain. “Don’t ever stop.”
I kiss her again—slower now—tasting her, savoring every sigh. My hands skim the outside of her thighs, up over her hips, tracing the line of her waist.
The zipper of her dress slides down beneath my fingers, the sound loud in the quiet room. She shivers, and I push the fabric off her shoulders, letting it pool at her waist.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur, brushing my knuckles over the swell of her breast.
Her hands find the hem of my shirt, and I pull it over my head. Her eyes roam my chest, my shoulders, my arms like she’s committing them to memory.
I ease her back onto the bed, my weight braced on one arm so I’m not crushing her. My free hand strokes down her side, learning her curves, mapping out every inch.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” I tell her. “You deserve that. Your first time should be… perfect.”
Her breath catches, and I press my lips to her collarbone, trailing kisses down to the edge of her bra. I look up at her once, and when she nods, I slip the strap down her arm, kissing the skin I reveal.
Her body arches toward me, and I tell myself to slow down. Tonight, isn’t about me. It’s about her. Making her feel safe. Worshiped. Completely undone in my hands.
And I plan to make sure she enjoys every damn second.
Her mouth is warm and open under mine, kissing me like she needs me to breathe. My hand slides down, under the lace, between her thighs—finding heat and slickness that makes my cock throb instantly.
“Fuck, Crick…” I groan against her lips, my fingers barely parting her folds. “Already wet for me? We’ve barely started.”
A small gasp escapes her, and her hips roll instinctively into my touch. I let one finger trace up her pussy, slow, teasing, until it circles her clit. Her whole body shivers under me.
“You’re wet…” I drag the pad of my finger through her again, gathering more of her arousal. “…but I want you dripping for me.”
I pull my hand away and hold the glistening finger between us. Her eyes lock on it, wide, pupils blown. I lick it clean, groaning low in my throat. “Always so fucking sweet for me.”
