“I don’t want you to. Stay.”
Nodding, he follows me inside. I lie in the middle of the bed but he drags me to the edge of it as he sits on his haunches in front of me. The moon, the only source of light cutting through the darkness of the suite, illuminates his harsh yet breathtakingly beautiful features. Mesmerized, I imagine that’s what it would be like to stare into the eye of a tornado.
As our gazes lock, he spreads my legs apart and reaches for one of them, placing the heel on his knee. He bends down, lowering his head and placing kisses as decadent as sin along my calves, my knee, the inside of my thigh. He absorbs me, his gaze burning me, swallowing me.
Grabbing me by the ass, he pulls me forward, closer to the edge of the bed and to his mouth. Kneeling now, Lawrence lets the back of his hand trace my skin until it reaches the center of my body, teasing me, taunting me, before it continues its lovely exploration. He turns his mouth to the other leg, repeating the same torturous steps. Lawrence casts a spell on me, bewitching me, stealing my breath and making it his. His tongue absorbs my every thought until his name is all I can think of.
Lawrence …
Lawrence …
Lawrence …
Lawrence …
When he reaches my right knee, I flinch in pain. Sitting back on his haunches once again, he looks at the red, angry gash on my skin. “What happened here?” he asks, his fingers grazing the cut reverently.
“I fell,” I manage to say.
He lowers his lips, kissing the cut and the pain away. Standing, Lawrence undresses in front of me, revealing his gorgeous, hard body. How can a man be so perfect? It’s as though in the beginning when God created life, he said, “And I create this man so you can see what I’m capable of—the magic in my hands.”
“Stay right there. Don’t move,” I whisper and get off the bed, closing the space between us. I kneel in front of him, place my hands on the sides of his legs and lean forward, rubbing my lips back and forth on his hardness. Lust floating in my veins, I don’t feel the pain on my knee anymore, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care.
He wraps my loose hair in his fist and forcefully pulls my head back, making me look at him. “What am I going to do with you?”
I lick my lips, that never-ending hunger for him, for his body, for what he makes me feel flaring again. I grab his rock hard erection in my hand and stroke it, raising my eyes to meet his. “Want me.” I lick the head. “Need me.”
“You’re blind, Blaire. So blind.” He bends forward and kisses me. Deeply. Senselessly. Ravenously. It isn’t a kiss. It’s a man brandishing himself on my lips and claiming them as his own.
After he pulls away, both of us breathing heavily as though we’ve run a marathon, Lawrence bites my lower lip. “Now put my cock in your mouth.”
“With pleasure.”
I’m lying on top of him, chest to chest, heart to heart. And with him still inside me, I feel him under me, inside me—everywhere. Trying to catch my breath, I push some of the long dark hair that covers his eyes to the side to better see him.
I smile. “You’re mad for wanting me. I’m a fucking basket case.” I lean in and press my lips on his Adam’s apple, leaving a trail of kisses up his jaw.
He palms my ass, kneading the soft skin there, pressing us closer together. “Perfection bores me.”
After a few moments pass in silence, I say, “Lawrence?”
His fingers caress my naked back, the movement soothing and erotic. “Yes, Blaire?”
“Did you really notice me from across the room at The Met?”
“Yes, darling. I saw you the moment you walked into the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”