Page 70 of Cockpit
“Yes.”
But neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to ruin the perfection of the moment. The calm before the storm.
“Inside,” he says again.
“Neighbors,” I murmur as the dog next door barks.
He pushes himself to his feet and then takes my hand to help me up. We don’t speak. We only lose eye contact when I walk ahead of him. His hands frame my hips as I take the steps up. His dick is hard against my backside as I fumble with the doorknob that always sticks.
I giggle as nerves take over, when I’m not one to normally giggle. Nerves I shouldn’t feel because I’m a grown woman. He’s a grown man.
I shouldn’t be nervous about this, but I am.
Grayson Malone makes me nervous.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Let me,” he says as his hand closes over mine and we turn the knob together.
The door opens. We step inside, the silence bathing us, making me hesitate as the jitters wage a war inside me.
“Sidney.” That voice . . . his voice, which is all scratch of gravel and grit of restraint, has me turning slowly to face him.
Our eyes meet and hold, questioning what we’re about to do and simultaneously saying to hell with it.
The snap of desire whips and cracks and takes over. Within a heartbeat, his lips are back on mine. Our kisses greedier than before. The tender sips of lips turn to nips and a fight for possession. The soft dance of my fingertips up his spine becomes a fist in his hair.
Wet clothes become frustrating as we pull and shimmy and yank them off, our thirst for each other’s skin so much more important than the barriers between us.
The minute we’re naked, we’re back in each other’s arms again. No time to admire the other. No need to when the desire is already at a fever pitch from what feels like weeks of foreplay bringing us to the crescendo of this moment.
We bump into a wall and laugh.
“Bedroom,
” he says.
I stumble some as he moves me backward, his hand squeezing my ass and the feel of his dick, rock-hard and ready for me is enough of a distraction that I forget how to make my way through my own house.
“We need a bed. Now.”
I slide my hand down his chest and abdomen, needing to feel him. My fingers circle around his cock; my palm strokes him ever so gently as my lips and tongue toy with his. His hands tense. His groan grows louder. His body stills as his mouth breaks from mine, and his head falls back as if to welcome the sensation.
He’s incredible to look at. The broad shoulders and tapered waist. The strong thighs and the definition of his abs. The bump of his Adam’s apple and the tendons straining in his neck. The girth of his shaft and how it bounces in reaction as I use my hands to please him.
As desperate as I am to have him, I take my time because there’s something intoxicating about watching the way he reacts to my touch. I spread the precum over his tip and work the length of him again, over and over until his hands grip my arms and every part of him begins to tense.
I’m doing this to him.
I’m making him hard.
I’m making him groan my name.
“Christ, woman. You are going to be my undoing.” The second he utters the words, he yanks my hand away from him and crashes his mouth to mine. It’s a take-no-prisoners kiss that has me digging my fingernails into his shoulders and losing all sense of my surroundings.
When the backs of my legs hit my bed, we tumble onto it, and the full desirous assault begins anew.
His lips are on my breast.
His hands slip between my thighs, fingers whispering over flesh begging to be parted, touched, pleased.
