He was so much bigger than her, his chest a wide plane bracketed by arms hanging with tense readiness, his biceps taut and straining against his pullover. She wanted to kiss his bare wrists, but imagined he’d think that inane.
His rib cage expanded as he inhaled, drawing her eyes to the lift of his strong shoulders, the tendons standing out with strain against his neck. He stared down at her from beneath his thick, spiky lashes, eyes flashing with frustration.
That revelation of want held firmly in check gave her the nerve to take the plunge. She moved to stand between his feet and set her hands on his shoulders.
He jolted a little, as if she’d burned him. She felt the leap of energy as an electrical charge, flaring awake all her senses. With the sort of smooth caution someone used when petting a wild animal, she relearned the familiar shape of his shoulders, hands warming as heat radiated off his muscles. She traced the ridge of his collarbone through the warm fabric of his shirt and when she reached his throat, she crept light fingers under his collar, circling until she found the bump at the top of his spine.
The hollow at the back of his neck was familiar territory. She stroked upward against the short spikes of hair on the back of his head. As she went up on tiptoe, she expected to feel his arms lock behind her, dragging her stretched body into his taut one. Then he would drop his head and kiss her. They’d be in the bedroom in seconds.
He didn’t move, only looked at her.
Nobody will ever truly want you, Clair.
Her heart fell and continued to fall, like plunging into an icy crevasse, the descent long enough to comprehend what a mistake she’d made and dread the damage at the bottom. She felt stupid and incapable. A disappointment to herself and him.
Ducking her head, she eased her hold on him and lowered herself to flat feet, body unavoidably brushing his, making her almost cry with denial as she felt the bulge of—
Unnerved, almost fearful, she stared at where his jeans followed the contour of his hardness. Caught in a spell, she slowly reached out and traced the shape with a wary touch, then became aware of the searing affect she had. His breath hissed in and the shape of his erection grew pronounced, unmistakable.
She stared in astonishment. She’d barely touched him! The thrill that went through her nearly melted her onto the carpet at his feet. She wanted him, all of him, so badly. Her gaze skimmed over the wall of him again, starving eyes consuming a banquet. She didn’t know where to start. Fear of revealing her extreme need paralyzed her. She didn’t want him to see—
But maybe it was the same for him. Maybe it would excite him to know he was wanted, the way she’d just felt a rush of desire from recognizing his arousal.
It took all her nerve, but she lifted her face and let him see whatever was there. A blush of heated excitement, longing in her eyes, admiration for the sheer sexiness of the man he was. Licking her lips, she even told him, “I want to kiss you.”
His nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded under his skin and his hands came up as though to grasp her hips. He caught himself and clasped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. With a jerk of his head, he acquiesced.
Clair used her hips to nudge his thighs farther apart so she stood right up against his erection. Her heart thundered. Aleksy lowered his head, but that was as far as he went. She had to press her mouth to his and cling to his shoulders for balance as she lifted herself on her toes. She had to open her lips and try to cajole him to do the same. His erection pressed insistently against her belly, but he didn’t let go of the desk.
To her chagrin arousal grew in her despite being the one trying to arouse him. Touching him in any way made her body writhe with desire while the taste and feel of his smooth lips against hers clouded her mind. She wanted to lose herself in the kiss. She wanted this to be the kind of all-encompassing kiss he always gave her.
He wasn’t cooperating, though. His breathing was erratic, but he didn’t seem as overcome as she was. Growing frustrated, she cupped his head and boldly forced her tongue into his mouth.
He grunted and leaned into her. Surprised by her success, she tried again and was met by a welcoming draw and the stroke of his tongue against hers. Now came the drowning pool of pleasure where she ceased thinking about the mechanics of what they were doing and hummed with gratification at the sheer joyfulness of kissing him. Nipping, soothing, consuming. Arching her body, she stroked herself against him, ready to abandon herself completely.
His hard fingers dug into her hips and he straightened away.
She whimpered at the loss and licked her lips where the taste of him still lingered.
“Aren’t you going to move this to the bedroom?” he growled.