Page 20 of Smartasses
Straightening her shoulders, she looked him square in the eyes and— “I can’t zip up my dress.”
No. Those were not the words supposed to come out. They. Were. Not.
“I can help with that,” he said, walking into her room. “Turn around.”
God help her, she did. She was weak. And he was—well, he had that rough edge to his voice that did things to her. His hands went to her hair first, twisting it around his hand into a tight ponytail that he tugged with just the right amount of force to make her nipples stiffen and her breath catch. She closed her eyes and took a moment of oh-my-fucking-God before he let go, and her hair fell over one shoulder. He walked his fingertips down the back of her neck, following her spine lower, his touch a teasing promise of what could be. Temptation didn’t even begin to cover it. She had to get herself under control. She had to, oh—
He tugged at her zipper, lowering it. “This thing isn’t working right.” He dipped his head, brushing his lips across the nape of her neck. “I guess the only choice is to take it all the way down.”
Desire, hot and demanding, licked at her skin as the sound of the zipper and her own pulse filled her ears. “Carter.”
“I promise to buy you dinner later,” he said, his breath hot on her skin as he slipped his hands inside the opening of her fully unzipped dress that hung loosely by the straps.
“You don’t have to. It’s—”
“It should be clear by now…” He nudged her dress down, letting it slip down her body to the floor. “That I want to.” He cupped her breasts, taking her nipples and rolling them until they were stiff peaks. “If you don’t, tell me now.”
It wasn’t that. Oh God, it wasn’t that. She opened her mouth, fighting against the want and the need telling her to shut the fuck up, but before she could form a half coherent thought, he slid his fingers under the band of her panties, and she was lost to the heat and the ecstasy and the hope that somehow this would all work out.
This wasn’t the first time that someone got nervous around him. They were cool right up until it hit them that he was The Admiral. Then there was a shyness, a hesitancy that hadn’t been there before. It was just one more weird thing about making his living pretending to be someone else—sometimes, people bought into it much harder than he did. Usually, it was just a bummer, but with Audrey? He wasn’t willing to just accept it and walk away per standard operating procedure. He wanted—needed—her to see him as Carter the man, not Carter The Admiral. If he took the time, maybe he’d figure out why that was his new reality, but trying to make logical deductions was impossible while his fingers were wet with her desire, and she was making that needy sigh each time he slow circled her clit.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, dipping two fingers inside her, fucking her in a soft, slow rhythm that only made both of them want more.
Her answer was to press back against him, rubbing her ass against his cock and making him regret more than anything else in the world that he had on so many clothes. Fuck. He wasn’t just hard, he ached, and his balls were pulled up tight against him.
“Aubrey.” God, he loved saying her name. “You have to say it.” He withdrew his fingers, pulled free of her ridiculously skimpy lace panties, took half a step back, and severed their physical connection, though he swore he could still feel every inch of her. “I need to hear that you want this as much as I do.”
Did he mean the sex? Did he mean something more? Did he mean everything and anything? Yes. He couldn’t explain it, and now sure as hell wasn’t the time to dive into it.
She stilled, and for a moment, he thought this was it. She was done. Then she whirled around—hands on those glorious full, rounded hips of hers—and looked up at him. Her pink panties were damp with her desire, the darker color matching the rose of her hard nipples. Damn. He could look at her all day—another day. Today, he wanted to sink balls deep in her and fuck her until she came so tight around his dick he saw the universe.
“Do I want you?” she asked, trailing a finger across his chest as she looked up at him, bold as brass and unapologetic.
The woman didn’t have a coy or double-dealing bone in her body. Coming from where he did, where everyone was using everyone else and image was everything, her ballsy attitude was almost as addictive as she was.
“That’s what I need to know.” He shrugged off his shirt. “Do you want me?”
“Let’s get these off so I can show you.” She went straight for his pants, her fingers aiming for the button, a daring smirk on her pale pink lips as if she couldn’t wait to see just how far she could take this. “Take off your pants so I can show you.”
He took her wrists in one hand, lifting them above her head and backing her up against the wall. “That’s not how this is gonna work.”
She made a tsk-tsk sound. “You’re keeping your pants on?”
“No.” He kissed her hard and brief, barely giving either of them even a taste of what they wanted. “I’m going to show you.”
“Are we having a fight?”
Immediately, he let go of her and took a step back, his gut twisting. Fuck. That was not what he was going for. He didn’t want her to feel pressured. Way to go, Hayes. This is why you need writers.
Aubrey shook her head, letting out a soft giggle, then said in a stage whisper, “If you say yes, that means we get to make up.”
Make up? What did they have to make up for—Realization was like a light bulb in the darkness. Oh, yes. He was here for this little game.
“In that case, this is a huge”—he flicked open his top button—“knock-down”—he lowered his zipper—“drag-out fight.”
She reached out, repeating his move and wrapping her fingers around his wrists before he could shove his pants down. “So angry sex?”
“Fuck yes.”
