As sweet as it was, I didn’t want tea. I wanted this man’s arms around me, cocooning me in safety. I wanted to feel like I didn’t have to be brave for a few hours. I wanted to let him be my courage. My protection. My shield.
I met his eyes, searching for a sign that he wanted me, too. For something that was more than a hint. More than a quickly smoothed-over glimmer of desire. Had we both been circling around the truth? Or was I alone in this infatuation?
As if he already knew me from the inside out—knew exactly what I needed—his expression turned hungry. No bodyguard mask hiding his feelings. His eyes swept over me, lingering on my chest where my nipples brushed against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Down to the boxer briefs that were so loose they were in danger of falling off. Over my legs, bare from my upper thighs down to my toes.
With his eyes still on me, he let go of the tea kettle and crossed the distance between us. He slipped his hands around my waist, hauling me against him. He was so tall, I had to look up. Without a word, he tilted his face and brought his mouth to mine.
The sensation of his kiss exploded through me. Rising up on my toes and pressing myself against him, I threw my arms around his neck. He delved his tongue into my mouth, deep and demanding, and slid his hands up my back beneath the t-shirt, spreading heat across my skin.
His solid—and oh my god, so thick—erection pressed against my belly. I rubbed myself against him and he groaned into my mouth.
God, it felt good to be kissed like this. With heat and passion. With strong arms surrounding me. With velvety tongues sliding against each other, urgency flowing through us both, making us frantic. Hot. Desperate.
This wasn’t enough. I wanted to climb him like a tree. Feel his solid length between my legs. I jumped up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He caught me with his hands cupping my ass and groaned again.
“Bed?” he asked, our lips barely disconnecting.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I breathed again, then went back to attacking his mouth with mine.
I never did this. Not without careful consideration and planning. I hadn’t exactly been free with my sexuality before I’d become the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation. And now that I was, my body was on lockdown. No flings. Nothing casual. Ever. My ex was the only man I’d been with in the last several years, and we’d both signed a non-disclosure agreement before we’d slept together for the first time.
But I didn’t want a contract with Jude. I wanted him like this—dangerous and raw. Unplanned and untamed.
And I wanted him now.
20
JUDE
C ameron’s long limbs were wrapped around me, her magnificent ass in my hands. A torrent of sexual tension was unleashing between us. We weren’t naked yet, but we were both stripped bare, casting off the masks of professionalism. Giving in to a healthy dose of pent-up lust.
With our mouths still crashing together, I carried her across the loft to my bed. I laid her down and climbed on top of her, reluctant to break contact. She kissed me hungrily, like she was as starved for this as I was.
Hell, maybe she was.
In the back of my mind, I knew this might be a huge mistake. Once we crossed this line, there was no going back. Not for me. Not with her. She’d already gotten deep under my skin, and if we crashed and burned, it was going to fucking hurt.
But nothing risked, nothing gained. And I was no stranger to a high-stakes gamble.
Pressing my erection between her legs, I felt her heat even through our clothes. My dick was hard as steel, ready to fire off like one of Cameron’s rockets, especially with the way she rolled her hips to grind against me.
I lifted up, my groin still firmly pressed against hers. Her gorgeous copper-red hair fanned out across my bed and her green eyes were half-closed. She was killing me in my old Marine Corps t-shirt. It rode up her belly and draped tantalizingly over her tits, her nipples teasing me through the fabric.
“You are so fucking sexy,” I growled.
She ran her hands up my chest and fisted my shirt. “Can I take this off?”
Something about the way she said that—asking for permission—made my blood run hot. How often did Cameron Whitbury ask for permission to do anything?