Page 61 of Floored (Frenched 3)
I placed my hand over his and turned my head, looking back at him over my left shoulder. If he kisses me, this is a date.
He didn’t even hesitate. Pressing his lips to mine, he held them there, and a moment later I felt his fingers beneath my chin in the sweetest gesture I could have imagined. Actually, I couldn’t have imagined it. Not from Charlie.
But this kiss was nothing like our others. Nothing frenetic or rushed or overwrought. No spinning or tilting or crashing. No tongues or teeth clashing. In fact, I’m not even sure we breathed. This kiss had such a lovely stillness about it, a tenderness that had been missing, that I was scared a breath might break the spell. It was fragile and guileless and pure, something to be protected.
His lips were cool at first, chilled by the ice in his gin and tonic. Mine were too, from the crisp, bubbly champagne in my glass. But it took only seconds for our lips to grow warm, heated by touch, by thought, by feeling. My entire body grew warm, actually. My hand pressed his to my stomach, my toes curled inside my shoes, and heat prickled across my back inside my dress.
What on earth was this?
Applause for a song that ended broke out, and Charlie lifted his lips from mine. But just a few inches, and he kept his fingers beneath my chin.
I turned in my chair to face him, letting my head fall back. He kissed me once more, another slow, sweet lullaby of a kiss. Something is happening, I thought. Something good.
So good that I didn’t want to examine it any closer, didn’t want to look behind the curtain. Whatever magic this was felt too good to last, so I was just going to enjoy it. A moment later, Charlie picked up his head.
“Ready to go?”
His kiss had been soft, but something else was in his eyes now. Something harder, edgier. Darker. Something that made my insides tremble and my panties wet. “Yes.”
Charlie paid the bill, and we left our drinks on the bar half-finished. Taking my hand, he pulled me quickly toward the door.
“Charlie,” I said breathlessly, once we’d rushed through the revolving door. “I have my car here.”
He didn’t stop moving though, and I could barely keep up in my heels. “Just come with me.”
We raced through the chilly dark to the lot
where he was parked, and Charlie opened the passenger door for me. I slid into the front seat, glancing into the back and wondering if he was planning on parking in a dark alley and tossing me back there.
I’d have done it.
Charlie got in and started the car, tore out of the lot and swerved quickly around Grand Circus Park, turning onto Washington. I had to hold onto the dash, he was driving so fast. I wanted to know where he was taking me, but something told me not to ask.
In front of the Westin Book Cadillac, he looped around and pulled up to valet parking. The uniformed attendant opened my door and I stepped out, moving closer to the heaters above the glass entrance. My pulse raced as Charlie spoke to the valet and then strode toward me. He took my hand and pulled me into the hotel. “Wait here,” he said in the lobby, pointing to the elevators.
Oh, fuck. My legs jittered while I waited, watching him approach the reservations desk, chat briefly with the employee, and hand over his credit card.
Oh my God, oh my God. He’s really getting a room.
I’d gone on a few trips with boyfriends before, carefully planned trips up north or weekends in Chicago, but I’d never been so hot for someone or had someone so hot for me that we couldn’t even wait until we got home. On a Thursday night! I hadn’t finished my champagne, but my blood fizzed as if I’d drunk an entire bottle.
A few agonizing minutes later, he appeared again, stepping past me to punch the up arrow. He said nothing, just took my hand when the doors opened. Another couple stepped in when we did, and as the elevator rose, so did the tension. By the time we stepped out on the twenty-seventh floor, I was strung so tight, I thought one word, one look from Charlie could snap me. As we rushed down the hall, I unbuttoned my coat.
At our room, Charlie slipped the key card into the slot and held the door open for me. I stepped past him, but before I got three feet inside, he grabbed me around the waist so roughly I gasped, dropping my clutch. Holding me tight, he turned to face the door, which slammed shut, leaving us in total darkness.
He yanked my coat off, and a second later I was pushed up against the door, my cheek against the cool wood, Charlie’s chest against my back. Again, he kicked my heel out so my legs were spread, and I flattened my palms on the door. His hands slid up the front of my thighs, my hips, my ribs. As one covered my breast, the other moved down between my legs, gripping me hard. I felt his breath on the back of my neck. “You’re under my skin,” he said quietly. Two fingers worked my black lace thong aside and slid easily inside me. “What am I going to do about that?”
I stayed quiet, my breath coming in quick little bursts. But my hips moved instinctively, riding his hand, pushing back against his erection, which I could feel through his pants. I reached behind me for his zipper.
“Oh, no.” Immediately he took my hand and put it back where it was on the door. “You don’t get to use your hands unless I say so. In fact…” Removing his fingers from me, he untied the pink satin ribbon from around my waist. “I’ve been looking at your pretty little ribbon all night, imagining the ways I could use it.” He took both wrists and brought them behind my back, pulling my arms so tight my fingertips grasped the opposite elbow. I gasped as he twined the ribbon around my forearms. When the knot was secure, he leaned against me again, putting his lips at my ear, his hand back between my legs. “There. Much better. Now I know you’ll behave.” His voice was smooth and low, deceptively calm. A knife sheathed in velvet.
“Charlie,” I panted. “I want to taste you. Let me.”
“You want to taste me?”
“Yes. I’ll behave. I’ll do what you say.” I struggled against him and managed to turn around so I was facing him. “Please.”
Taking my face in his hands, he crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue slashing through my open lips. A complete contrast to the way he’d kissed me an hour ago, this kiss was demanding and aggressive, as if he needed to make up for the uncharacteristic tenderness. As if to remind me who he really was. He kissed me so deep and hard I could barely breathe, and when he unsealed his mouth from mine, I gasped for air.
