Follow My Lead (Stepping Up 2)

“We won’t be,” he promised, unhooking the front clasp of her bra. “Hard and fast.” He teased her nipples, sucking them lightly. “But next time we’re going slow and hot. You have my word.”

Her hand went to his zipper, tracing his throbbing erection. “Who says there’s going to be a next time?” She unsnapped his jeans and the next thing he knew she had her hand on his cock.

He groaned, both from her touch and the way she challenged him. Lust jolted him. He pressed his hand to the wall above her head. “There’s going to be a next time. You can count on me doing whatever is necessary to convince you of that fact.”

She massaged his shaft, her fingers trailing along the top, spreading the dampness gathering there. “Not if you manipulate me to get me to my room, or anywhere else, ever again.”

“We needed to talk,” he defended. “And you wouldn’t have come any other way.”

“Your talking isn’t a good idea,” she warned, pressing his boxers out of the way and freeing his cock. It jutted forward, thick and pulsing, and she lowered her lashes, inspecting him, stroking him, driving him freaking wild, before her gaze lifted. “Talking is just going to make me mad again. And before you say you like me mad, you should know that mad may or may not include me kicking you out of my room.” She slowed her movements, then sped up again.

He barely contained a groan. It felt as if liquid fire was burning through his veins. “Though I do think you’re insanely hot when you’re mad, I sure as hell don’t want to get kicked out of the room right now.” He closed his hand around hers. “Keep touching me just like that and I’ll shut up.” He moved against their joined hands. Her lashes lowered again, her attention on his cock, her tongue biting her bottom lip. It was official. She still hated him and was tormenting him to death. Death by lust. She stroked him harder, faster, and he quickly realized he was further gone than he thought. Too far gone to have her touching him like this if he was going to last—and that sure wouldn’t get him a take two. And he wanted a take two, three and four—and whatever and wherever that led. He wanted this woman in his life. But he couldn’t convince her by pushing her. Not now, at least.

He brought her to the foot of the bed and held her tight, pressing his lips to hers, her bare breasts teasing his chest. He would convince her with pleasure. The kind two people who felt something special for each other could make. “You have on too many clothes.”

“So do you,” she murmured just before his mouth came down on hers in a searing kiss that burned with a possessiveness so new to him, it threatened to unravel any control he still possessed.

She lifted his shirt upward, scraped her teeth across his nipple, then tongued it softly. “Take this off before I get impatient and ruin it,” she ordered, repeating his command. “This time you’re not getting away with leaving anything on.”

“Believe me,” he assured her. “I want nothing more than to be naked with you, sweetheart.” Naked and tearing down your walls, he added silently. He kissed her and then set her away from him, immediately tossing his shirt aside.

They stared at each other a moment, stared at the clock, then back at each other. One hour left. One hour would never be enough. In silent agreement, there was a frenzied rush of undressing. Blake made it to his socks and then forgot everything but Darla—standing before him gloriously naked. Her breasts were high, full, with pebble-tight cherry nipples. Her hips were slender, her skin ivory perfection. Every second he was with her, she seemed to grow more beautiful. He stepped toward her.

“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand then pointing at this feet. “I said everything off this time.”

He didn’t argue. He was too hot and too ready for her. He had his socks off in seconds and pulled her into his arms, lifting her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, the wet heat of her core warming his stomach. Lust tore through him, the desire to bury himself inside her and get lost was almost too much to resist.

“Tell me you have a condom,” she panted, apparently feeling what he was.

“A half dozen,” he said, carrying her to the dresser.

She pulled back and gave him an incredulous look. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“It was one or six. I chose six. But yeah, I’m hoping you’ll let me convince you we need all six sometime in the near future.” He settled her on top of the dresser and slid his fingers into her hair. “What do I have to do to make that happen?”