I placed my hands on his chest, one hand on each pectoral. His breathing grew harder and heavier as I slowly dragged my hands down, feeling the fine fabric of his button-down shirt against my palms. His gaze turned from apprehension to appetite, taking me in as I gradually brought my hands to rest against his abdomen. His height forced him to look down at me, but his admiration was undeniable: He wanted me.
Men had wanted me before. I had given myself to them before, plenty of times and in plenty of ways that I wished I could purge from my memory. The use of my body had never been a cause for uneasiness before. This was different—and I didn’t want it to be different.
“Well fucking kiss me then,” I whispered as I finally fixed my eyes on Davis’s.
He did. His mouth met mine in a crushing, but protective embrace as he pulled me into his arms, letting our tongues meet in a desperate clash as he maneuvered me backwards. My legs hit the bed at the same moment that his hands slid down to my thighs, allowing me only a brief beat of surprise before he lifted me onto the edge of the mattress.
The man kissed like he meant it—like his entire body meant it. My head grew dizzy with the feel of him, the scent of him, as he dragged his lips away from mine and along the line of my neck. They settled to the side of my pulse point, where Davis sucked in my skin, eliciting a gasp from me.
“Too much?”
“No,” I whispered as I laced my hand into his hair and put his lips back where they belonged: on me. On my skin.
My hands went to his shirt, fighting to undo button after button and wishing that he weren’t so damn rich and so damn polished because I knew I had to make this fast. The longer that I let him wind me up, the harder it would be for me to shake this off—to shake him off—when all was said and done. But Davis wasn’t a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, and in the amount of time it took me to undo his shirt and remove his undershirt, he had managed to work my dress up my thighs and was clutching my bare ass under my dress.
I inhaled with surprise as he squeezed my skin, giving me a hint of his strength. His size. I had never touched a man as tall and as full as Davis, and I wondered if that size carried over to all parts of him. Some fraction of me didn’t want him to be—it would make it easier to forget him.
No luck.
My hand slipped into his undone pants and wrapped around his hardened length, starting at the base. With a measured grip, I gave him a stroke from base to tip—and had to tilt back to look down at him.
“Oh,” I murmured as I took in the size of the member in my hand—a member that was not only long, but thick. Thick enough to make me wonder if I would be able to take him.
Davis didn’t speak. He simply let his sightline travel from my hand, which was curled around his cock, up to my face. A smile formed on his lips, which were tinged the slightest shade of nude pink from my lipstick.
Adorable, as usual.
He moved forward and kissed my mouth again, his actions even more certain this time. It was almost as though my display of pleasant surprise had given him a boost of confidence, which was truly insane to me. How could any woman sleep with a man endowed like this and not tell him that it was going to be the stuff of her fodder for years to come?
“Olivia,” he managed to say against our working mouths. “Can I take off your dress?”
Of course he could, I wanted to say. Of course he could take off my dress—and every stitch of fabric on me. I was about to make a snarky remark conveying just that when I realized that he was asking my permission not because he was uncertain, but because he wanted my consent.
Well, fuck. There was no chance I would escape this night without guilt.
I released his cock and pushed back from Davis, scooting away until there was a foot of space between us. I rose up to my knees, hooked my hands under the hem of my dress, and locked my gaze on his face.
He swallowed hard as I began to slide the dress up my body, making a real meal of it until I had pulled the tight garment over my head and pitched it to the side somewhere.
When I looked down, I saw that his hands had clenched into fists, like he was holding back from me. His gaze traveled over my body, starting at my bare breasts and journeying low to the last bit of clothing on me: a nude colored, lacy thong: the last clean pair of underwear that I had and the sluttiest, in fact. It served little to no purpose—I may as well have gone commando. But I had envisioned Davis peeling this tiny scrap of fabric off of me and I couldn’t resist.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as his attention returned to my face. He delivered the words right to me, the sincerity rich and evident in them.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, the comment ratcheted up the tension of the situation—tension that Davis had no idea was lurking under the surface.
Maybe it was because a man had never called me beautiful before. I had been called plenty of things: sexy, hot, fuckable, whatever. It was like men were careful not to give me any words that held poignancy—like they knew that I wasn’t worthy of them.
Not Davis. Davis spoke to me with outright reverence.
“Come here,” I requested as I grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the bed. This needed to be fast. We needed to get this over with. We didn’t need to compliment each other or make mountains out of molehills. We just needed to fuck.
To fuck and say goodbye.
He kissed me again when he joined me on the bed, thwarting my plan to pin him down, climb on top of him, and ride an orgasm out of him. That was my MO—my usual go-to when I wanted to get it over with. Davis, whether or not he realized it, wasn’t having it though.
Instead he wrapped his arms around my nearly naked body and clutched me against his bare chest, letting his cock press against me as he lowered me down onto the bed. I was on my back and looking up at him, taking in the gorgeousness of his features as he settled over me. Before I could calculate my next move, his lips were on my neck again. They trailed down and made a brief detour on my collarbone before he began to kiss my breasts.
The speed of our encounter had suddenly come to a screeching slow-down, and I was at his mercy. My back arched as his tongue drew a slow, worshipful circle around my left nipple, while his big fingers gently massaged my right.
He let out a groan as he wrapped his lips around the hardened peak, finally treating me to the soft, warmth of his mouth. I could feel my chest heat and flush as the faint embers of pleasure stole across my body, originating from Davis’s skillful mouth.
“Fuck.” The word slipped out as my hands went to his spanning shoulders, gripping them as he switched his mouth from one nipple to the other. This wasn’t just foreplay—he was savoring me. He was working my body into an unparalleled fever pitch, and he was doing it with the same urgency as a man wandering around the Rijksmuseum and killing time on a summer afternoon. He hadto know that this was driving me wild. He had to know that I was steadily turning to liquid in his hands as he alternated between his hands and his lips on my breasts. Still he continued, focusing on me like a man trying his first bite of the most delicious dessert that had ever touched his lips.
“I could worship this body,” he murmured as his lips suddenly departed from my breasts and began to kiss a pathway down my stomach. Over my bellybutton. Along the brim of my underwear.
I was nearly quivering with need at this point, well-aware—even without investigating for myself—that I had probably soaked through the lace. When he looped his fingers around the minuscule straps at my hips, I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him.
He saw me move and he looked up at me, his cheeks pink and his hair tousled—boyish and beautiful, but truly all-man through and through. His big shoulders were red from my grip and his broad chest (which he should have kept on display as a favor to all mankind) had the slightest gleam of sweat on it.
I couldn’t believe I was about to sleep with a man who looked like this.