“I want to know how your body feels against mine,” she said in between breaths as she arched her hips, bucking into her hand, her words turning into a chorus of cries as her back bowed and her body flooded with pleasure. In seconds his lips crashed down on hers, and he kissed her ferociously, incessantly, his hand dropping back between her legs, touching, stroking, rubbing, and somehow coaxing one more crest out of her as she cried out again, coming once more as he kissed her feverishly.
When at last he let go, he kissed her neck, her throat, her collarbone. “I want you so much,” he said, and his voice was different this time. It wasn’t the voice of the teacher, the dominating force who told her what to do. Nor was it her friend who she joked with and talked to and teased. It was the voice of a lover, the sound of a man, and it lit up her heart in a way she hadn’t expected.
She wanted him too.
CHAPTER NINE
New York City, night . . .
The natural next step was to leave. To say a few nice words; to kiss her goodbye, to be on his way. But he didn’t want to go. He wanted more of her. He wanted to not lose what they had before. As much as he was accustomed to the over-and-out of these kinds of nights, he feared that if he left, he’d be treating Casey as merely a sexual object, when she was so much more to him.
That’s why he’d have to fight the temptation, the overwhelming impulse to slide into her, to feel her legs wrap around his waist, to take her to the heights she so desperately wanted. Even though he was absolutely certain sex with her right now, in the state they were both in, would be beyond spectacular, he also knew that she seemed to thrive on not knowing what was coming next. In their few short nights together, he’d learned that she responded quite nicely, oh-so-very-nicely, to being surprised.
He wanted that perfect chemistry of anticipation and wonder, of tease and heat, stirred in her to just the right temperature before he finally took her. He didn’t know when that would be, but he was confident now that it would happen. That she was hooked on these lessons too. Maybe for different reasons than he; but still she’d been seduced by submission, and by her own natural wildness as well. She had a fantastically wild side and a dirty side, and he loved experiencing those parts of her.
All of her.
That meant now was not the night for more.
He pulled on his pants, and she cracked up as he reached for the zipper.
He tilted his head to the side, curiosity getting the better of him. “Why are you laughing?”
She pointed to his pelvis. “Because it’s funny.”
“My dick is funny?”
She shook her head, another giggle falling forth. “No, it’s funny the way you have to put them on so you don’t zip yourself up.”
He glanced down at the practiced move. Obviously, he could do this without looking, do it from memory, but yeah, you had to tug the fabric away from the crown jewels to make sure you didn’t catch them in the teeth.
“Ever get it caught?”
He rolled his eyes and suppressed a laugh. “Yes. Yes, I have. Years ago, as a younger man,” he said, launching into a storyteller’s voice, as if sharing a tale. “But, alas, I survived, and there are no scars.” With that, he snapped his pants shut, and gestured proudly. “Voila. Impressed?”
“So impressed,” she said, clapping several times.
“Wait ’til you see me juggle.”
“You juggle?”
“I’ve never shown you my juggling skills?”
“I’ve always known you could juggle women, but didn’t realize it extended to objects.”
“Ha ha. Got any oranges or apples?”
“In the kitchen. There’s a basket on the counter. You can grab them. I’m going to change,” she said, standing up in all her naked glory.
He hated for her to take away the view. “But you look so good naked,” he said. He briefly considered begging for her to stay undressed.
“So do you, and yet you put on pants,” she said, then retreated to her bedroom.
He wandered into the open kitchen of her loft, and found the bowl of fruit on the island counter. Grabbing three oranges and an apple, he headed back to the living room and tossed the first orange in the air, then the next, then the next, finally adding the apple. He found his rhythm quickly and the fruit whirred in a circle before him.
Then she returned, and his jaw dropped, and the apple smacked the floor with a thud.
“Damn, Casey,” he said, quickly grabbing the three oranges mid-flight, before they spilled to the ground too.
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes so wide and innocent.
“You’re just . . .” he said, tripping on his tongue, barely able to form words around her. Because one minute she was the leather-clad woman in stockings, heels and a red bra, and the next she wore pink cotton panties and a white tank top, fresh-faced and all-American blonde, with her wavy hair pulled into a loose knot at her neck. He walked over to her, unable to resist touching her. With his free hand, he trailed his fingertips down her arm, then pressed a soft, simple kiss to her lips. “You’re just so beautiful,” he said, finally able to finish the thought, then he stepped back.
“So are you,” she said softly, never taking her eyes off his, and the way she looked at him did funny things to his heart. Foreign things he hadn’t felt in years. “But don’t start thinking calling me beautiful is going to distract me.” She snapped and pointed to the oranges and the fallen apple. “Juggle. Now.”