“Lola, let me—”
“No,” I tell him as I straddle his hips. “This time it’s your turn to let me.”
I reach for his hands, twine our fingers together. Then press them back against the bed and hold them there. Hold him there as I rock my hips gently against his. Once, twice, then again and again as his jaw goes tight and he thrusts up against me.
“My turn,” I remind him, leaning down to press my lips to his. He opens immediately, his tongue licking along my lower lip before thrusting inside my mouth to stroke against my own. I’m tempted to pull back—he needs to know that I’m the one in charge here—but it feels so good that I linger for long seconds, reveling in the warm chocolate-and-whiskey taste of him.
He groans as I deepen the kiss, his fingers flexing against mine in an obvious need to take control. But I don’t let go. Not this time. Instead, I keep him pinned in place as I finally manage to pull my mouth from his.
We’re both gasping for breath now, chests shuddering and bodies straining against each other. It would be so easy to slip his clothes off, so easy to lower myself on top of him and take him deep within my body. But I want more from tonight—more from him and more from us.
So, instead of unbuckling his belt, I settle for taking off his tie. For flicking open the top two buttons of his custom-made dress shirt. For pressing my mouth against his skin and licking small, slow circles over his collarbone and the hollow of his throat.
He groans, arching against me. “Lola, please—”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against his throat. “Let me show you.”
He groans again, low and dark and desperate, but he settles back against the bed with a nod. “Do your worst,” he says with a wicked grin, right before he throws an arm over his eyes.
I don’t answer, just smile back. Because I can’t tell him that I’m not looking to do my worst here. And I sure as hell can’t tell him that I’m looking to do my best to take care of him, to give him the tenderness he so desperately, desperately needs.
Instead, I undo a few more buttons on his shirt, pressing kisses to each swath of newly exposed skin as I inch my way down his body. When I’ve opened the last button, I coax him into sitting up just enough to slip the silky fabric off his shoulders.
He’s a little stiff as he settles back against the bed, and I know it’s because of the scars. He’s more relaxed with me now than he was when he first let me see them in my kitchen, but I can feel the tension in his body. I know that he’s still waiting for me to ask. Still waiting for me to try to force him to open up about the most terrifying and painful time in his life.
That’s not what tonight is about. There may come a time when I ask about the abduction, not because I want the gratuitous details but because he needs me to know. Needs me to listen. But tonight is not that night.
Which is why, at least for now, I focus on the top of his V-cut as it tapers into the waistband of his pants. I press kisses to it and lick along its edges, relishing the way Garrett tenses for a whole new reason now. The way his legs tighten up and his hands fist in the butter-soft sheets.
“Lola, sweetheart,” he says, voice all dark and husky. “Let me—”
“Let me,” I interrupt, kissing my way up the center of his chest and flicking my thumbs back and forth across his nipples as I do.
“Baby—”
I stop him with a kiss that takes both our breaths away, that has him trembling and heat coursing through me. When I finally move away, he groans. Fists a hand in my hair. And pulls me back down.
We kiss and kiss and kiss, until my lips are swollen and my jaw aches. Until fire burns in my veins. Until I want nothing more than to take him inside me.
Every time we’ve made love, he’s taken care of me. Pleasured me. Made me feel like the most important, most exquisite woman on earth. I want to give back to him, need to make him understand how much I adore him and how important he’s become to me in so little time.
This time, when I pull away, I slip down his body before he can pull me back in. I kiss my way back down the lean muscles of his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen. I’m trembling so much that my fingers fumble with his belt buckle, can barely get it undone.
Garrett reaches down, helps me, and then I’m unhooking his pants, lowering his zipper. Reaching inside his boxers and pulling out his long, hard cock.
He groans as I stroke my hands down his length, his hands fisting in my hair as I stroke a thumb over the leaking tip. “Fuck, Lola.” His voice is gravelly now, and it turns me on even more. Garrett’s always in charge, always in control, and the fact that he’s yielded that control to me—and that I’m pushing him beyond the boundaries of that inimitable control—makes me hotter than anything ever has.
It also makes me wonder what it will take to shatter it completely.
With that goal in mind, I scoot farther down the bed. I rub my cheek along his hard, silky length before turning my head and softly kissing just the tip. He calls out, reaches for me, but I push his hands away as I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock. Then I reach between his legs and cup his testicles in my palm.
Garrett groans, his eyes hot as they follow my every move. He reaches for me again, and this time I let him tangle his hands in my hair as I lean forward and slowly flick my tongue up the length of him.
“Lola, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
“Garrett, sweetheart,” I mimic with a wicked smile. “I haven’t even started.”
I swallow him down then, pulling him deep as I continue to stroke my tongue back and forth along his length. He groans, tugging at my hair until it burns just a little, in the best possible way. I can feel myself getting pulled under, can feel my sex growing hotter and slicker with every tug of his fingers.