Manwhore +1
Page 30He lifts his head and frames my face in his hands, warm, strong hands, and then he smoothes a hand back, pulling me closer, his long fingers encompassing so much of me I feel it like a collar around the back of my neck. A collar that’s remarkably welcome, that makes me feel safe and controlled while the rest of my body’s in chaos.
His voice is low and gruff and his breath is too close to my face, my ear. “I’m taking over,” he continues in a husky voice. “Until there’s absolutely nothing left. Nothing before it. Nothing after it. Only what’s mine, what I claimed and what I make of it.” He kisses me then, and we kiss for a long time.
“Maybe I’ll invest in this Interface,” I whisper.
“Come down with me. One walk across the room to meet a few of my business partners. And then we leave.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“I’m not asking on this.”
When we head back downstairs, he places a hand on my waist. He caresses it as we go down—and oh, I definitely feel like his date.
“You’re a devil.” I laugh as I check my reflection in the shiny elevator wall.
“And you want me.”
I mock-gasp. “You’re a deluded devil.”
“I’m one who won’t stop until I get what I want.”
He lowers his hand to the small of my back, even when he’s stopped at a table to chat with a few businessmen. I let him introduce me and talk mostly to the men.
Only a few of the younger women at the table make me a little uncomfortable.
They’re draped in the most beautiful jewels, and looking at my tiny, simple R. Their dresses glitter and sparkle as they take in my plain silk one. Their hairdos are styled and swept and elegant as they stare at my straight locks. And judging by those looks, they just can’t seem to believe that the one standing next to him is me.
And still Malcolm’s hand remains on the small of my back.
I’m surprised that, for the first time since I’ve known Malcolm, I don’t care about these women, if they read my article or not, if they’re jealous, if they think I’m pretty enough for Malcolm Saint.
I’m human and flawed and hopeful and afraid and strong and weak and independent—and in love with him in a way I’m sure they are not.
I’m proud to be who I am.
I’m proud of where I stand.
REBOOTING US
Once we’re in the car and the partition between us and Otis is fully up, Malcolm presses me up against his side and his lips come down on mine. He parts my lips and his taste fills me, going like a shot of crack to my heart. A soft noise leaves me as I kiss him back with all I’ve got.
“Are you okay with this?” he asks as he sets my mouth free. His eyes are so dark, I can hardly see the green in his pupils.
Nodding and breathless, I slide my fingers into his hair and pull his delicious mouth back to me. He fits his lips to mine, to the way he knows just how to.
He plays with my tongue a little, sucks gently on my lower lip.
The fingers of one hand trail under the fall of my hair and then he slides them upward to cradle the back of my head in his palm, and with that motion alone, he’s got me pinned in place. I’m helplessly subjected to his hungry mouth, and the way he’s kissing and sucking on me is so downright hot I’ve never been so turned on.
I end up lying down on the bench seat with his body above mine, my hands anxiously gripping fistfuls of his collar.
His tongue sweeps and sweeps into my mouth and when he retreats to give me a smoldering look, I notice the way his green, green eyes have darkened like a night forest.
“I miss you,” he rasps, looking at me so fiercely it’s as though he’s commanding me to understand what this means.
“I miss you too,” I croak feelingly.
“I miss the taste of you, the feel of you, the sounds you make.” Clenching his jaw as if he’s remembering what it was like to miss me, he strokes his curled index finger down the line of my jaw, watching what he does. I watch the emotions play across his features as he opens his hand and caresses my face and neck. Determination. Hunger. Control.
I’m panting, aching, wanting, waiting. Holding me by the back of the neck, he pulls me up to a sitting position and in for another wet kiss. Leisurely, his mouth slants from one side to the other as he tastes me from all angles. I feel delicious, juicy, luscious. Wanting to taste him just as thoroughly too, I draw his tongue into my mouth and suck, surprised by how the sucking motion causes every centimeter of my body to squeeze and Saint to reflexively tighten his hold on me.
“Malcolm, what are you doing?” I gasp, covering my chest with my arms as my breasts pop free.
“I’m looking at you.” Completely shameless and in control, he takes both my arms and lowers them to my sides.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, embarrassed to realize he’s probably noticed I used nipple stickers to keep from having to use a bra tonight. I didn’t want my nipples to be poking out, and now my perky breasts are staring up at him with two small, round tan stickers on them.
He runs his thumbs over each. My sex squeezes when I notice his gaze is loving, appraising, possessive. And dark. So very, very dark.
“I meant to take them off before you saw,” I whisper.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’ll do it.” Then he leans close and kisses one tip of my breast over the sticker. Then the other, his lips warm and gentle. He then raises his head as he seizes each sticker between his thumbs and fingers and looks into my eyes as he gently pulls off one, then the other.
A frisson of need runs through me.
The act is strangely intimate. Looking into each other’s eyes as he does this to me.
He lifts his thumb to his mouth and my sex tightens when he licks it. He does the same with his other thumb. Then he uses both to rub my nipples clean, and I almost moan out loud.