He didn’t move. I didn’t move. The hands on the clock froze in place.
Until...
With a breathless crash, the two of us came together. Pulling, grasping, clutching...doing anything and everything we could just to hold on.
That inch of space between us vanished as Nick pressed his body onto mine. His mouth forced mine open in the deepest kiss I’d ever had. His legs hooked around mine—spreading them slightly as he pinned me to the mat. And while one hand continued to imprison my wrists, the other slipped through the ripped fabric stretched across my hips.
It was here that he paused. He pulled back for a second, glancing down, before his lips pulled up in a sudden grin. “That lingerie I got you from Dior...you’re wearing it.”
I blushed slightly, taking a second to catch up.
“You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”
In a surge of reckless abandon, he bowed his head back to my neck, attacking every inch of skin he could find with a force and passion that took my breath away.
“For a long time, Abby. I’ve wanted to see it for a long fucking time.”
Apparently, the man was unaccustomed to waiting.
Not content to just feel the pricy little number, Nick ripped apart the rest of my dress with a single swipe of his hand. I lay there, flushed and exposed, while he feasted his eyes—taking his time before lowering himself back down on top of me.
Things got rougher after that. As long as we’d both been waiting, as long as that damn frustration had been building, we suddenly couldn’t wait for even a second more.
My fingers clawed desperately against the buckle of his belt, ripping it off with a leather hiss and tossing it toward the rest of our clothes. His pants were soon to follow—as was the shirt he’d been wearing beneath the suit.
It was here that I paused, glancing anxiously around the abandoned room.
“Nick,” I whispered, extracting my face from his just long enough to gaze nervously into his eyes, “are you sure we should be doing this here? Maybe we should—”
“Yes,” he interrupted, running his hands along my lacy bra, “we should absolutely be doing this here.” He unhooked the clasp with a single finger, and the thing slid right off.
“I’m serious,” I giggled, wriggling around as his lips came down to investigate, “we’re in the middle of a fucking exhibition ring. That irony doesn’t bother you?”
“Nothing,” he kissed, “can bother me,” another kiss, “right now.”
My back arched up in pleasure, and he ran two fingers from my chin all the way down my stomach. Then a little lower. Then he started getting creative.
“Oh my gosh,” I breathed, biting my lip with a moan as his fingers flicked and teased me.
In hindsight, I didn’t know why I was surprised. The guy had always been good with his hands. But this was another fucking level entirely. At one point, his started trailing little kisses down my stomach, stopping only when my chain of diamonds got caught in his hair.
We battled with them for a moment, kissing and laughing, until he pulled himself free and brought his lips back to meet mine. All the while, his fingers never missed a beat.
There was a pressure building. One I didn’t have a hope to control.
“Nick,” I whispered, if only to say his name. My body arched and writhed against his hand as my lips came up to kiss his throat. “Nick.”
“That’s it—enough.” He yanked down the elastic band around his waist—just as wanting and impatient as I was. “I can’t take anymore.”
He threw apart my knees and positioned himself in between, but before we could come together, I backed suddenly away.
“Wait,” I gasped, propping myself up on my elbows, “not yet.”
He stared at me incredulously, trying to catch his breath.
“What the fuck do you mean, not yet?” He shook his head and reached for me again. “I said enough, Abby. No more waiting.”
It seemed as though Mr. Hunter was used to getting his way both in and out of the bedroom. My lips twisted up in a little smirk. He would have to be taught some manners.