He steps close to me and his hand touches my back, resting there for a moment before moving lower, skating along the curve of my butt.
It’s completely indecent, but I don’t pull away.
“I don’t think you like my game,” he says, leaving his hand where it is.
Flames lick me as I try to gather courage to push him away. If someone walked up to join us on the balcony, they’d see him touching me, and though that thought should inspire fear, it does nothing but make the whole thing even more seductive.
“I’d rather not play,” I say, voice breathy.
His hand skims up along my hip so he can gather me close.
“Fine then, why don’t we just cut to the chase?”
Then he takes my hand and pulls me after him off the balcony.Chapter TwelveNatalieThe second story of the library is littered with side hallways and niches. So many possibilities, and yet we barely make it off the balcony and away from prying eyes before Connor hoists me up against a wall and sears me with a kiss.
It’s shocking.
I scramble at first. Panic builds up inside me. My hands splay out against the wall then on his chest. I push him away, but he doesn’t let me win. He cages me in and convinces me to relax.
It doesn’t come naturally. I want to bite at him, tear at his tuxedo, slap my hand across his cheek—truly. The sting would satisfy me to no end, but Connor’s mouth is very convincing.
He doesn’t kiss like a gentleman. No gentle pecks that grow into something more.
His lips are punishing and unforgivingly fierce. His hands find my waist and skim higher, up over my rib cage, the edges of my breasts, my shoulders, my neck. He holds them there, as if he’s about to tighten his hold and steal the breath right out of me. Then instead, he uses his thumbs to angle my chin a little higher, giving him better access to my mouth. Cold marble stings my bare back and my feet barely touch the ground as he continues, relentlessly kissing me.
I need air. I’m drowning, and when he backs away and gives me a moment, I drag in breaths like they might be my last. I hunch over, about to grip my knees for support, but instead, I grab the lapels of his tuxedo and pull him toward me again with an angry tug.
“You’ve done this to me. You’ve turned me inside out.” I sound like I’m blaming him. I sound like I want him to apologize and make amends. Give it back, Connor. Give me back my sanity, my ability to look at another man without immediately comparing him to you.
He’s looking at me the same way—like he blames me for all the same things. His brows are tugged together in a sharp scowl. His fingers dig into my dress as he connects our hips.
He’s hard beneath his tuxedo pants, and that knowledge is powerful. He wants me and I want him, but first, I want him begging. I want his heart permanently etched with my name.
He leans forward and kisses me again. Hungrier, dirtier. Our tongues touch and I moan. He reaches for the hem of my dress, gathering it in his hands. Cool air hits my shin, and then my knee, and I jerk my eyes open and push him off.
He needs no explanation. It’s obvious we can’t stay here, in public, in the hallway, going after one another with wild abandon.
I mean, we could. If he wanted to, I would probably just roll with it because I’m only working with two brain cells here, but Connor starts tugging me down the hall after him. Our fingers are twined as he attempts to turn every door handle we pass, looking for one that’s unlocked. We try three with no luck then stumble upon a broom closet that’s too shallow for either of us to stand in. Impatiently, he pulls me toward the end of the hall, and there, a handle gives, a door swings open, and we’re gifted with a dark quiet study room.
The empty tables beckon us inside.
He pushes me in before he closes the door behind us. I stand a few feet into the room, useless, while he grabs a chair and jams it against the door to barricade us inside.
It dawns on me that we have that massive townhouse with all its space and all its soft surfaces and extra pillows waiting for us and we’ve chosen this room instead. This room with its unforgiving tables and cold tile floor. This room with its windows that open out onto the Boston skyline.
I look at Connor as he slowly turns back to look at me.
We give each other two seconds. One to take a breath, one to voice any final protests, and then we meet halfway, bodies crashing together. I’m pulling on his bowtie, half-choking him in my attempt to get it off. He’s ripping seams on my dress. I hear threads splitting and then he must remember that up high, behind my neck, there’s a delicate bow waiting to be untied. He tugs one tail and it comes undone, allowing the two sides of my dress to dip open, uncovering my shoulders and the top of my chest.