Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

As she watched, he lifted one of those elegant, capable hands to his bow tie and tugged at it, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button of his crisp white shirt. Making him look almost roguish.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“I hear you’re doing very well for yourself,” he continued, surprising her again. She had never really thought he’d given her more than a moment’s consideration in the years since she’d seen him last.

“I’m doing okay,” she said, her eyes on his lips. There was a wicked curve to the bottom lip, and she wanted to taste it. She licked her own lips in reaction, shocking herself. His intense eyes followed the movement of her tongue avidly. Like a cat watching a mouse.

“Your parents have retired,” he said softly, and she frowned, not really sure why he’d bring that up.

“Yes.” Her mother and father had been his family’s cook and chauffeur, respectively. Libby had grown up in the Chapman house. She had happily played with the twins as a child, at first totally unaware of the huge social and economic gap between her and the boys.

“Good.” The purring satisfaction in his voice startled her.

“Good?”

“That means I can do this . . .” He reached out, cupped her nape beneath her fall of hair, and tugged her toward him. He turned so that he was facing her, and as she watched in fascination, his eyes drifted shut. He tilted his head and slotted his mouth over hers in a hungry, all-consuming kiss.

It was unexpected but so, so good. She moaned, her hands going to his chest and then burrowing beneath his suit jacket and around his back. She wriggled closer and opened her mouth to allow him entry. He didn’t waste any time, his tongue swooping in and laying waste to any semblance of reservations or common sense.

Before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her mound grinding against the huge erection surging between his thighs. He had her halter undone and her small, braless breasts exposed to his eyes, hands, mouth, tongue, and teeth.

Libby wasn’t very experienced, but this felt like the most natural thing in the world to her. This was Greyson; she’d known him forever. She had wanted him for nearly as long, and now he was here, seemingly from out of nowhere. He was holding her and kissing her and touching and caressing her. She was on fire with need and lust for him, and she couldn’t see any reason why she couldn’t have him.

He was the one who called a halt to things, releasing her lips with palpable reluctance while he fumbled with her halter top, tying a clumsy knot at the back of her neck. She winced when he caught a few strands of her hair in the knot, and he muttered an apology. He dropped his hands to her waist and lifted her from his lap to place her on the seat beside him.

“Greyson,” she moaned, embarrassed by the naked pleading she heard in her own voice.

“I know. I’m sorry. But we’re here.”

Here?

“Where?” she asked blankly.

“I told my driver to bring us back to my hotel.”

“That’s assuming a lot,” she said huffily, gradually coming back to her senses and a little irritated by his cheek. Typical Greyson, always getting what he wanted.

“Too much?” he asked, looking both arrogant and uncertain at the same time. How was that even possible? “Should I ask him to take you home?”

She swallowed audibly and folded her arms over her chest, trying not to react at the slide of the silky fabric over her swollen, sensitive nipples. He looked rather out of sorts himself; his hair was mussed, his tie completely off, his top four shirt buttons undone. And she knew he was still hard, could see it in the hunch of his back as he tried to find a comfortable way to sit.

“Olivia?” he prompted her, and she shook herself.

“Do you have food up there?”

“We can order room service,” he promised.

Don’t overthink it, Libby.

“Okay,” she said cautiously, feeling like she was about to step out of the car and fall down a crazy rabbit hole. He didn’t smile—his expression barely changed at all—but she could tell from the flare of his eyes and the sudden hitch of his breath that her response pleased him.

Libby and Greyson lay sprawled on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, chests heaving after their third energetic bout of lovemaking of the evening. Libby curled up on her side and rested her head on his corded biceps. She trailed a finger down the center of his chest, toward the sexy indent of his belly button.

“That was fun,” she said, dropping a kiss on his well-defined pec. The muscle twitched beneath her lips. His arm curled around her back, and his long, elegant fingers combed through her tumble of dark, wavy hair.