Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

I tilt my head to see him looking at me, his face a mirror of my emotions.

And that's the moment it happens.

That's the moment that I know we'll be okay.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to jump Noah in the elevator. I want him. I want to feel his body pressed against mine. I want to feel his mouth on me. I want his cock inside me.

I want to close my eyes and give myself over to his pleasure.

In short, I want to be his.

I'm a bubbling mess of need by the time we finally stumble out of the elevator car and down the hall toward his room. He fumbles in his pocket, then presses the key against the magnetic pad.

Nothing happens.

We look at each other, and when he mutters, "Come on, you fucker," as he tries again, I know for certain that he's as desperate as I am to get inside.

This time, thankfully, the key works, and he shoves the door open, then takes my hand and pulls me into the room with him.

"I was starting to--" I begin, but I don't finish the thought, because Noah has me pressed up against the wall, his mouth silencing me in a kiss, his hands moving over my hair, my face, my breasts.

"Finally," he says, when he comes up for air. "Do you know how long I've waited to touch you like this?"

I laugh, delighted by the fact that he's just as crazed as I am. "I'd say exactly as long as I've waited. And please, please Noah, don't make me wait any longer."

"Hell, no," he says.

I'm wearing a thin cotton button-down paired with a knit skirt. And even as he speaks, his hands find the collar. He pulls hard in opposite directions, sending buttons flying as the shirt tears open, revealing my pale pink bra.

I gasp, then laugh.

"Don't say a word," he orders. "I don't care if you liked it. I

'll buy you a dozen more. I have to have you. I have to taste you."

"I did like it," I say. "But I like what you just did better."

His eyes meet mine, and the slow curve of his smile sends liquid heat coursing through me. I press my legs together. I'm so wet I can feel it on my thighs, and I know the miniscule bit of material that forms the crotch of my thong panties is already thoroughly soaked.

As if he can read my thoughts, he tugs the skirt down. The elastic waistband stretches easily, and it slides over my hips, revealing my panties--or, more accurately, revealing me. Because the panties aren't much more than damp material. He tugs them down and tosses them to the side, then orders me to take off my bra.

I do, but when I start to drop it on the ground, he takes it from me, then starts to wrap it around my wrists.

"What are you doing?"

"What I wanted to do in my condo, but what we weren't ready for."

"Oh." I lick my lips, thinking back to that night and talk of trust and commitment. My heart swells with hope. "We're ready now?"

His green eyes meet mine, and I think I can see all the way to his soul. "Oh, yes."

He leads me to the bed, then looks at me with a frown. "Damn hotels. There's no place to secure it."

He's right. The headboard is padded and apparently screwed to the wall.

With a rakish grin, he trails a fingertip down my naked body, from my collarbone to my clit.

I gasp, my breath shuddering, my legs wobbling.