Looking Inside

But those were just surface rationalizations.

The only real logic for behaving so impulsively stalked toward her right now, his gaze trained on her. His new haircut made him look sleeker. Harder.

Hungrier.

“Where?” he asked her gruffly.

She swallowed back her mounting excitement and glanced around the room. She pointed toward the only likely candidate, a huge cataloguing table with dozens of small drawers beneath it and clutter from various old exhibitions collected on top of it. He glanced to where she indicated and took her hand wordlessly. When they got to the wood table, he pushed aside several informational signs, some cans of spray paint, some paint swatches and who knew what else. He shrugged out of his long dress coat and laid it on the table, then turned toward her. Before Eleanor realized what he intended, he hoisted her up onto the table and set her down on his spread coat. He hastily took off his suit jacket and tossed it next to her the on the table.

With no further ado, he spread her knees and slid her dress up her thighs until it bunched at her hips. He stepped between her legs and began unfastening the buttons of her dress.

“I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you standing there in the hallway earlier. You look so sexy.”

“Are you crazy?”

His glanced bounced up to her face. “It’s better than any of your stripper costumes,” he told her bluntly.

“This?” she asked incredulously, staring down at herself as his hands moved between her breasts.

“Oh yeah. I didn’t realize I had a librarian fetish, but I guess I do. In a big way. Jesus, what is this?” he asked, pausing at her waist. He opened his hand along her satin-covered ribs. His eyes widened.

Embarrassment swept through her. She started to pull the opened edges of her dress closed. He grabbed one wrist, stopping her halfhearted attempts, and continued to unfasten the buttons of her dress.

“Are you wearing a slip?” he asked, sounding stunned. He finally seemed to have enough of her struggling and grabbed her wrists, spreading her arms wide. Eleanor shifted her hips in embarrassment on top of the table. “Do women still wear slips?” he asked.

“It gets chilly in the preservation rooms. They’re temperature controlled. I wear slips with my dresses to help keep me warm. So what?” she defended.

He glanced up at her face. “So what? I’ll tell you so what. It’s sexy as hell.” He reached behind her with one arm and lifted her off the table with ease. Eleanor squeaked in surprise. With his other hand, he whisked her dress down over her hips and butt and down her thighs. He plopped her ass back on the table and drew her dress down over her feet. He stared at her as he tossed aside the dress heedlessly, his mouth shaping into a snarl. Eleanor held her breath. He almost looked angry.

He put his hands on her thighs and slid the satin slip upward, exposing her underwear. Eleanor knew a moment of panic and sharp embarrassment. She had not dressed for a seduction. Just the opposite, in fact. She was wearing thick ivory thigh-high tights and a pair of utilitarian cotton panties. They weren’t granny underwear, but they definitely were the opposite of sexy. Trey’s warm hand slid across the bare skin at the top of her thigh-high. He stared at her crotch fixedly. Mixed mortification and sharp arousal tore through her.

He reached for her. Impulsively, she tried to stop him. Undeterred, he pushed past her resistance and shoved his hand between her clamped thighs. A surprised, shaky whimper puffed past her lips as he rubbed her pussy lasciviously.

“Jesus, Eleanor. You’re gonna get fucked so hard.”

She saw his swooping, slanting mouth. He kissed her hard, almost immediately penetrating her parted lips with his tongue. His exciting declaration echoed in her head. His attack on her senses wasn’t violent, but it was close to it. He placed one hand at her back, supporting her, and he leaned farther into her, feeding from her mouth furiously while rubbing her pussy through the

cotton panties. She drowned for a moment in the dark decadence of his kiss, clutching at his head and running her fingers greedily through his thick, newly shorn hair. The sensation excited her unbearably. He kept pushing back on her as he came over her, until her knees rose and her feet dangled in the air.

There was nothing, nothing so intoxicating in the world, as being ravished by Trey.

He ripped his mouth from hers, making her blink open her eyelids dazedly. His hand eased off her back, and she compensated for his support by planting her hands on the table behind her. He began to lower the straps of her slip, his expression rigid. His fingers scooped the fabric down over her bra to waist. Then his hands were at her back, and he was peeling her bra off her breasts. He tossed the bra aside, his gaze never leaving her.

“Look at you.” He reached to the top of her head, and she felt the pins holding up her hair slide next to her scalp. Her hair tumbled down her back. He sunk his fingers into it and spread it around her shoulders.

She didn’t have the wherewithal to puzzle out how or why he could be so excited. All she knew was that he was, because his arousal was palpable. His gaze moved slowly down over her. She felt like a feast that was about to be ravenously consumed. She couldn’t exhale. He lifted his hands. She whimpered in cutting anticipation.

He cradled and stroked her bare breasts, sliding his palms and fingers across her skin so tenderly. She moaned at the exquisite sensation . . .

And at the unchecked longing she read on his face.

NINETEEN

“You’re like warm silk here. You’re the softest woman,” he breathed out, his stare on her rapt. He whisked his thumbs over her nipples. Arousal stabbed at her core. Her nipples pulled tight. “And you get so hard here,” he added, tweaking and rubbing the crests. She clenched her teeth and moved her hips restlessly on the table, pushing her pelvis forward so that she could feel his cock.

He moved his hands just below her armpits and grasped her rib cage, holding her immobile. His head sunk. He sucked her breast into his mouth. His heat enveloped her, his lashing, rubbing tongue making her cry out. He cupped both of her breasts in his hands and massaged them firmly. Eleanor just stared down at him, panting, burning . . .

. . . Wanting.