Page 16 of (Not) The One
‘If you have to ask, you’re not doing it right.’
His answer is a sharp pinch that almost makes my knees buckle.
‘You’re going to be fun. I can tell.’ His words may be cool, but his kisses are gentle and hot.So hot.‘I take it that worked better for you.’ In the absence of words, I nod. Then his hands are sliding down my body, long fingers slipping into the elastic waistband of my skirt. ‘Let’s get you out of this.’
‘A little premature, don’t you think?’ God help me, I don’t know where these words are coming from. Whisky magic still?
‘Hasty really isn’t my thing. I prefer to take my time.’ Neck kisses and raspy whispers delivered like threats. Is this what magazines mean when they talk about men with game? I certainly feel like I’m being played with. And what’s more, I’m enjoying it as I step from the pool of flowery cotton. ‘Up you go.’ With his hands on my bum cheeks, he gently pushes me towards the stairs.
The thought of him behind me causes me to approach the first couple of treads at a jog. I imagine this is what an impala feels like with a lion on its heels.
‘Slowly.’ His hands on my hips cause me to start. I turn my head over my shoulder, my mind trying to form a retort. ‘This is much too nice of a view to rush.’ In the darkened stairwell, I hold his gaze for a beat, then blink. And as I don’t have an answer that doesn’t include a little whimper or moan, I turn back and make my way more decorously up the staircase.
He wants to watch.
Watch my backside as I walk up the stairs.
While wearing Batman under—
My head whips around as I reach the landing, and his teeth press against my skin. I don’t have time to ponder the action—respond to the action—as with a feral kind of speed he’s behind me, turning me and pressing me against the wall in front of us.
‘You’re too much of a temptation.’ The way he’s looking at me makes my skin hum as he lowers his head and slides his lips across mine with a groan. It’s a kiss that steals my breath and feeds me his. A kiss that turns fevered almost immediately, my hands feeding into his hair as though I’m worried he might not be real. ‘Let’s take this into the bedroom.’
I nod and lick my lips as his mouth pulls away, turning mindlessly in the direction of my room—I hope—as he takes my hand again.
The bedroom is dark, and I pull my hand from his so I can turn on the bedside lamp. After stumbling over a pair of abandoned shoes, I eventually achieve my goal. Thank goodness for energy saving lightbulbs and salmon-pink lampshades filling the room with rosy glow at a snail’s pace.
I might hide my idiocy.
‘Are you going to remember this in the morning?’ His arms wrap around my middle, his mouth on the back of my neck, causing me to fight a whole-body shiver.
‘I suppose that depends on how memorable you make it.’
‘A challenge from the girl with the messy bedroom.’ I can hear the smirk in his voice, but if he knew me better, he’d know that I’d ordinarily take offence.
‘I wasn’t expecting guests.’ The words are delivered on a breath of a sigh as I tilt my head to give him better access. ‘And I’m not drunk, by the way.’
‘Not yet, you aren’t.’
‘And I don’t keep a quart of vodka stashed in my nightstand as part of my bedtime ritual.’
‘Fuck drunk. The kind that makes you lose control of your mind and your legs.’
‘Hah.’ Rather than divisive, my answer is little more than a squeak as his hands grasp the hem of Heather’s too-tight T-shirt before he pulls it over my head. In a gentle contrast, he then trails the back of his fingers against the soft swell of my breast. And the noise I make as he slips one hand inside my bra isn’t one of disapproval as my body arches on instinct, chasing his touch.
‘I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.’ The words pound deep inside as the pads of his fingers stroke and tease. ‘You like the sound of that. Lady’s choice, how should we begin? Standing? Kneeling on the bed? Or should we take the traditional route?’
‘You talk a good game.’
‘I never promise things I can’t deliver, lovely Miranda.’ My name on his lips is a distraction as my bra is suddenly loose, the blush pink straps a whisper down my arms. ‘Let’s just get rid of this pretty little thing.’
‘If you like it so much, I might let you borrow it.’ Sheer with embroidered polka dots, I drop the frivolous thing to the floor.
‘It’s very lovely, like its owner. Like her Batman underwear.’ As though I need proof, he presses a very large and a very hard something against my backside where the large bat signal logo is displayed.
‘If you make a joke about visiting the Batcave, I’ll throw you out.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he drawls suggestively, which makes me think he means the exact opposite.
