officially in another plane of existence because there was no one in the world as she knew it who could have said those words in that tone with that look in his eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought there was someone sitting behind her, some model or actress or virtually anyone who wasn’t Bree Kingston.
“Bree?” His smile was slow, controlled, while she hesitated.
God, why was she hesitating? A few more seconds and maybe she could get her legs in working order.
He stood and held out his hand for her. Heart beating flamenco style, head swirling in a cloud of lust and weirdness, she rose without spilling, tripping or making any unfortunate sounds.
Instead of pulling her closer, Charlie stepped into her personal space, then into her. His body touched her from chest to thigh, and he was warm and big and he smelled as if he’d just walked in a forest. Looking up was nothing new, but meeting his gaze so near, feeling his tea-sweet breath caress her lips, that was stunning. As he bent down, her eyes closed at the last possible second, and then, and then …
CHARLIE SHIFTED HIS BODY as he kissed her. He’d been getting hard for a while now, since he’d put down that ludicrous tea tray. Bree wasn’t his type; there was no question about that, but she was something—
Something.
So small. Not thin, thin was ubiquitous, a thing to get over, not to enjoy. At least the kind of thin he was used to. Bree was diminutive, delicate. How he wanted to hold her completely in his arms, lift her from the floor and carry her off to his bed. More absurd than the tea service because there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body and also not enough booze to let his imagination get away from him, and yet, his hands moved down her black dress—which had to go—to cup her hips, her bottom.
Instead of giving in to his urge, he walked backward, pulling her with him. He didn’t need to look, not yet. It was a straight line to the hallway, where he would have to make sure to turn them, then another straight shot to his bedroom.
They kissed and walked in their odd shuffling gait. He touched wherever he could, mostly the parts that were bare, and warm, and pebbled with goose bumps. He hoped those were from him, not the temperature. Decided not to ask.
The bedroom was obscenely large for Manhattan, but the building was prewar and the place had been remodeled to make it expansive. He’d put in plush carpet for the pleasure of it, outrageously fine sheets, condoms and water bottles near the California king. Bree broke away from his kiss with a gasp. Not at the luxury of the room, she hadn’t looked at it yet, but for breath. To give him a smile.
He nodded toward the wall, all windows, the electronic shades up and hidden to capture the view. “There,” he said. “I want you there.”
She turned. This gasp wasn’t for air. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“It pales.” He took her hand and guided her closer to the windows and kissed her again, sneaking his tongue between her lips as his fingers found the zipper pull. He heard nothing but breathing and blood flow, but he followed the zipper with his left hand on her bare back until he reached the end. He touched the strip of elastic that was the line of her thong. The touch was enough to pull him away from the gorgeous heat of her mouth. He needed to see.
The dress fell, puddling at her feet, and it was better than he’d imagined. The thong wasn’t black, but red. Dark red, tiny. Seeing it against her pale flesh made his cock harder, his desire intense.
Odd, so odd, this reaction of his. She was pretty, she really was, but she wasn’t architecturally beautiful. Perfectly proportioned, yet not so slender she didn’t have curves and a little bit of a tummy that made him want to rest his head right there for a week. God, her breasts. They were mouthwatering, with pale pink areolas and firm little nipples, puckered and waiting.
Bree stepped out of her dress, and oh, that was something. Her in nothing but a ruby thong and high heels. Stunning, delicious … for Christ’s sake, the woman was two feet in front him, willing and eager.
He worked his clothes off in a controlled frenzy, flinging things away as he multitasked, toeing off his shoes and socks, moving closer to Bree as he unzipped, hissing as the silk of his boxer briefs brushed against the underside of his aching cock.
He kissed her again, but she was trembling and just chilly enough for him to bow to the nonsensical urge to scoop her up into his arms—she was a featherweight of soft flesh and hitching breaths—and dammit, he should have pulled the bedcovering down. She huffed a laugh as he stood her up, and together they got rid of the extra pillows and pulled down the duvet.
He waited, and when she sat and bent to take off her heels, he made a noise. It wasn’t a squeak or a whimper, but it was close on both counts. Bree grinned, rose from the bed. There was a wicked sparkle in those lust-darkened eyes of hers, and when she turned around and went onto all fours on the mattress, Charlie made another noise, but this was a groan that came straight from his balls. She crawled across the bed, her hips swaying in invitation, giving him flashes of red between her thighs.
When she got to the second pillow, she made a show of lying down, grinning at him, flushed and breathing hard as she posed for him. Hands behind her, clutching the teak headboard slats, hair dark against the white pillowcase. Her legs came up, one canted over the other, like a pinup from the forties, like a siren, like a dream.
Miraculously, he didn’t come right there and then. He made it onto the bed, took his time but he had to close his eyes before he touched her. Because, God.
When he licked a trail up the inside of her thigh, she trembled on his tongue.
BREE STOPPED BREATHING as Charlie’s mouth inched up her thigh. The sexy pose wasn’t like her, but then, she wasn’t the same Bree tonight. Thank goodness her hands gripped the slats or she’d have floated straight up to the ceiling. She wanted to hurry him, his hot breath teasing her so near the creases where thigh met thong but not quite there.
He’d caught her left ankle in his hand, holding her leg aloft as his other hand smoothed up the front of her right thigh. She watched him, her excitement mounting, but the angle of her head was tricky to maintain with the firm pillow smooshed awkwardly under the top of her back. As much as she wanted to let her head loll back, her eyes close, let out the cry trapped in her throat, she couldn’t do anything but stare at him, naked, crouched low on the bed between her knees. So she kept watching, urging him to move up, let that hot breath of his sneak under the silk, let his tongue follow.
Every inhale expanded her chest so her breasts, too small for her long erect nipples, came into her line of sight. When he looked up, he smiled at the same broken view, but from below. Okay, so maybe her breasts weren’t too small. From how he groaned, never letting his tongue lift from her flesh, he seemed to like them. A lot.
Despite the groan, the stubborn man refused to move. “Charlie,” she whined as she lifted her hips. What did he need, an engraved invitation?
His low chuckle dialed up her frustration.
“Patience,” he whispered, his mouth moving closer to where she needed it. But instead of his tongue, he slipped his nose in that crease, nudging the thong over. He inhaled as if she were a bouquet of roses, and oh, God, he lowered her ankle as his teeth gripped silk. The tug was forceful, but not enough to snap the G-string panties, only to push things
