Our breaths grow labored at the contact, her hand on me. Our eyes locked. Our chests heaving to draw breath into lungs constricted by desire. If she doesn’t step away, I’ll fuck her in this bedroom, heedless of her parents up the hall. She must sense how desperately I want to because she steps away.
“I can’t do this.” She shakes her head, walking over to the dresser against the wall, pressing her back into it.
“You mean now because people are here?” I ask. “Or at all? Because I have asked about you. I’ve dreamt about you. And now, you’re here. What are the chances that I sign with your mom as a client? That I would be here for her annual party? That you would come home early for Christmas?”
I cross the room in a few strides until I’m standing close again, close enough to palm her waist, spread my fingers over her hip in possession I have no right or reason to feel, but can’t help it. Something about her feels like mine. And I can’t deny I’d like to at least see if I could be hers. And with her divorce final, we could see. We could try.
“You don
’t squander a chance like this.” I dip until my lips hover over hers, exchanging jagged breaths between our lips. “I want to kiss you, Sin.”
She doesn’t correct or rebuke me this time for the nickname. Her eyes drift closed and she slumps into me, her breasts soft against my chest. I cup her neck, stretching my thumb to reach beneath her chin and lift. When her eyes meet mine, they are shaded with desire and fear.
Of course, with fear. She doesn’t even know me. She married a man she thought she did know, who turned out to be an asshole. With the ink barely dry on her divorce, I’m popping into her life and asking if we could have more than the hour we shared before. It was a damn good hour, though, and I would be damn good to her if she’d give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.
“Can I kiss you, Sin?” I breathe over her trembling lips. “It’s just one kiss.”
She gives me a wry look because we both know the sensation, the emotion roiling between us even now, is not just anything. It’s something. It’s rare, and I for one, do not want to lose it this soon after finding it again.
Wordlessly, with cautious eyes, she nods. I can’t believe she nods, but I don’t hesitate to take her lips with mine. She is as sweet and lush as I knew she would be. Her lips pillowy, soft, full, tender when I nibble at them, begging for entrance. I slide my tongue into her mouth, and I’m lost. It’s hot silk and smooth satin. She’s a greedy little thing, too, widening her mouth under mine, sucking my tongue hard, twisting into the kiss for more. I can’t help it. I squeeze her ass, and she gasps, breaking from the contact of our lips long enough to kiss my throat, run her lips over my cheek, before returning to my lips with a deep moan. She reaches between us, grabbing my dick. And now I’m the one moaning. I walk us backwards until her knees hit the bed. When she falls back, I kneel on the floor between her thighs, running my cheek across the denim, my mouth watering at what I know is beyond the rough fabric.
“Get this shit off,” I growl, unbuttoning her pants, pulling down the zipper and tugging until the pants are ruched at her knees. I bury my face in her panties, inhaling her private scent. There’s a wet spot, and I can’t resist. I mouth her through the silk material, my tongue searching until I find the bud of nerves. I clutch the rounded globes of her ass and nibble on her clit.
“Oh, my God, Harp.” She lifts her knees, digs her heels into the edge of the bed, giving me full access. She fists the comforter in her hands. “Don’t stop.”
I have no plans of stopping until I’m inside that tight, wet pussy again, but a sharp rap at the door tosses a bucket of ice water over us both. Our startled eyes catch and hold between Sinclaire’s bare thighs.
“Claire,” Merrin says from the other side of the door. “Are you okay in there?”
“What the hell?” she hisses, hastily lowering her legs and scrambling to pull her jeans back up. “What are we doing?”
She’s right. This was reckless, but I finally got to kiss her. Fuck regret. I have to bite back a smile because there’s no way she’ll be able to ignore a connection this perfect.
“Baby, are you sure you don’t want something to settle your stomach?” Merrin asks. “The party’s breaking up. Daddy can run out and get you some Sprite, some saltines.”
“Uh, no.” Sinclaire buttons her jeans and walks to the door. She only cracks it open enough to stick her head out. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a little bit.”
“Okay. Well if you’re feeling up to it, we have your favorite tiramisu.”
“Alright.”
“You didn’t see Harper, did you, by chance? Like in the hall?”
Sinclaire’s shoulders stiffen beneath the soft yellow fabric of her seater. “Um, no. Why would you ask?”
“He went to the bathroom and never came back to the table. Guess he had to leave, but I thought he’d have stayed for dessert or said good-bye.” She chuckles. “But you know these writers. Craziest souls on earth. I should be used to them by now. I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sinclaire says, her voice giving away nothing.
“He’s handsome, right?”
“Um . . sure.”
“Brilliant and such a great guy.”
“Are you . . .” Sinclaire releases a breathy laugh. “Are you trying to set me up with your client?”
“Well I don’t want to push, but ya never know. I just think he’s a nice young man. Maybe you two could—”