Manwhore

“It gave me great pleasure to watch you walk out with my shirt. It seems every single one of my employees who saw you knew that I wanted you. Everyone knew this except maybe me.”

My breath catches.

“Oh,” I say, when I manage to expel it.

“I didn’t know then,” he specifies, his stare unflinching.

The desire I feel is so absolute, so powerful, I cannot think of anything else but him and the fact that I cannot have him.

I’m acutely aware of the distance between us—of exactly how many feet lie between him and me in my living room. I turn on a lamp, and the room becomes more alive; all the light seems to make love to him, to the angles of his face.

“Why are you here, Saint? If it was because of what happened at Interface, I made a mistake.”

“Then let’s make another one. A bigger one.”

I laugh nervously. “What is this? Am I a challenge to you now?”

His lips quirk. “A challenge is something you stop wanting once you acquire it. I can’t know if you’re a challenge yet until I make you mine.”

I can’t believe how sexy that short little word, mine, is when the man I want utters it. I want to hear him say it so many more times, in my ear, closer to me. Oh god. Livingston, get under control.

But how can I? The tension is so thick in the air. I inhale the scent of him with every breath; every breath reminds me my body is tight and throbbing, every breath hurts because of him.

He’s watching me as if he wants to figure me out. “So, your friend . . .”

“Victoria. She’s my age, but she’s had short stories published already, she’s writing a children’s book for sex education, she makes success look so effortless. I can never do as much, think of the concepts she comes up with.”

“Use it, use it to become better. You do your best when someone else is right there trying to beat you. I was . . .” he begins, then laughs softly as if amused at himself. “Okay, let’s try this.” He edges forward in his seat. “I was a disappointment to my father.” He speaks casually, but he watches me as if he wants to be sure his words have an effect. “I’m not sure if it’s been since I was born, or later . . . when I got sick. Dad never forgave me that weakness. He asked for DNA testing, sure my mother had had an affair, wanting to prove I wasn’t his son. I got bigger, faster, stronger, just because the one man I wanted to prove myself to underestimated me.”

“Was he a tough dad?”

“Tough as nails. Nothing anyone did was good enough to suit him.”

“Is that why nothing you get is good enough, why you’re always chasing after more?”

“Not because of him. It’s because it never feels like enough. I never stop unless I want someone else to catch up.”

“You’re tough as nails too.”

He laughs and shakes his head, his hand restlessly running over his head. “You okay now?”

I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“You being here right now is holding me back from a pretty nasty hell.”

He stands, and my heart stops beating as he comes and drops next to me. I’m pudding when he tugs me into the nook in his strong arm. “Come here.” He holds me for a while, his arm encircling me. He’s not soft at all—his chest is hard, his shoulders square—but I feel his warmth and heartbeat, and suddenly I realize I’m pressing my mouth to his throat.

He circles my waist with his arm and traps me against his chest. He caresses my neck from my collarbone to the edge of my jaw.

I slide my hand up his chest.

He meets my eyes with blazing force, and I start chasing my breath in fast pants as he ducks his head.

He kisses the edge of my mouth. My lids sweep closed from the pleasure, and I don’t dare move a muscle.

He frames my face with the palms of his hands and slowly brushes his lips against mine. He eases back an inch, looking at me again, making sure I’m okay before bending again and opening his lips against mine.

He holds me loosely as I kiss his mouth, as if giving me space, letting me get accustomed to him. Everything about him is hard. His jaw. His chest. His arms. His hands. But oh my god, his lips. His tongue. His lips are warm and soft, kissing me hungrily. His tongue lightly slipping through my lips, making me melt into him.

We sink into the couch and I let him kiss me because it’s the most exquisite thing I have ever felt. I open my mouth wider, savoring every minute, every second, that his lips are on mine. He kisses me for a long time, over and over again, until I’m breathless. I never want to stop. I could do this for hours. It feels perfect. Amazing.

He draws back and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip.

My brain is thinking so many things at once it isn’t thinking anything at all. I’m breathing hard, looking at him with his hair tousled, eyes hooded, and lips slightly swollen, and he looks back at me like a tiger does its prey. We shift, and I sit on his lap straddling him. He kisses my jaw. I hold on to his biceps, big and strong. He kisses the side of my mouth again, reassuring me that I’m okay, while parting my blouse with his hands. Then he leans down and places a kiss right below my throat.

I look down to his jet-black hair, feeling his warm mouth kiss across my collarbone. He places another kiss right between my breasts, then all the way up to my jaw. He kisses my throat again. Sucking a little here, licking a little there, kissing a little more. I’m looking up at the ceiling, trying to memorize the feel of his lips on me. I feel like I’m separate from my body. If someone were to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t hear them. All I want in life right now is for him to never stop.

He makes his way back to my lips, giving me another soft kiss. I open my mouth immediately and wind my arms around his neck to hold him to me. His hands are big and warm on my thighs—without them I would probably float off somewhere near Cloud Nine. Or in this case, Cloud Ninety-nine.

I melt when I hear his hot voice against my skin. “I keep thinking of that day. And you couldn’t have possibly tasted this sweet. . . .”

I open my mouth, and suddenly I’m kissing him with my whole heart. He is exquisite. Kissing me tenderly, and then kissing me hungrily. The smell of his cologne surrounds me, the heat from his body warms me, and his lips slowly drive me crazy. This little make-out session of ours is going to end up with me in a psych ward.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe, rocking my hips with the sudden ache to get closer to him, to feel his skin on mine.