“You do?”
He nodded. “Yes. I want to kiss you in other places too.”
“You do?” she asked, vaguely aware that she was a broken record, but barely able to form words. The way he looked at her with those deep brown eyes, the way he talked to her, the way he touched her. She was liquid heat with barely a word, with merely a touch.
“I want to kiss your neck,” he said, then leaned in to plant a soft, sweet kiss on her neck.
“And your earlobe looks pretty tasty.” He nibbled lightly on her earlobe, then swept his tongue up her ear. She shivered.
“And this spot,” he said, touching the hollow of her throat. “I bet you’d like being kissed there too.”
“I would,” she whispered, and he brushed his lips gently there. She breathed deeply, her br**sts rising and falling, and he stole the chance to cup them quickly.
Then he pulled back. “There too. Your br**sts. I would very much like to take them in my mouth. Well, you know, not at the same time,” he said, playfully and she laughed. “But if I could, I would. Because I want to taste your ni**les and swirl my tongue across the flesh of your br**sts. First one, flicking my tongue over your nipple, then bringing as much of your delicious flesh into my mouth as I could. Then the other.”
Her br**sts ached with the need to be touched. She glanced quickly around the bar, noticing other patrons and other tables. But there was a part of her that simply didn’t care. That wanted touch more than she wanted to be prim and proper in public.
“Please touch my br**sts again, Reeve.”
He did as asked. She closed her eyes and sighed. He pulled her closer, cupping her through her thin gray sweater, feeling the points on her ni**les grow hard. He moved his mouth to her ear, and whispered. “But there are so many other places to kiss you, Sutton.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You need to be kissed on your belly. From your ribs, down to your belly button, and over to your hips. And you need to be kissed on your legs. On the back of your calves, and inside your thighs.”
“I do need to be kissed there.”
“By me,” he added.
“Yes, by you. Definitely by you.”
“Do you want me to kiss you there?”
She nodded.
“Tell me. Tell me where you want my lips.”
“Between my legs,” she said with a moan.
He dipped a hand there, pressing his palm against the fabric of her jeans. She was sure he could feel the heat radiating from her core. She was molten. She was a volcano for him. She felt as if she could come any second. He didn’t even have to touch her and she would come. All he had to do was talk to her, tell her all the things he’d do and she’d shatter in ecstasy.
“You do, Sutton? Are you sure?”
She nodded. Her face was red with heat. Her mouth was dry. She could barely speak. He was doing it again. He was stripping her of all pretensions, he was tearing down all the ways she’d tried to protect herself. He was a chemical reaction to her, the thing she couldn’t resist.
“Yes.”
“You want me to take off your jeans?”
“Yes.”
“And throw them on the floor of your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“And pull off your panties?”
“Yes,” she said in a broken whisper.
“And push you back on your bed. And place my hands on the inside of your thighs and have you spread your legs open for me? You’d want me to do that?”
“So much. So f**king much,” she said, and she felt as if she might cry out with the desire pounding through her body right now. She was pulsing with the need to be tasted, to be touched, to be devoured.
“And lick you? You’d want me to taste how hot you are, right? Because I can feel it through your jeans. I can tell you’re so unbelievably wet for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how much I want to know what you taste like? Because your lips taste like cherries, and I am dying to know what you taste like here,” he said, pressing his palm against her legs. She clamped her thighs closed, needing the pressure of his hand against her.
“I want you to taste me. I want you to touch me. I want you to go down on me.”
“You want me to lick you, Sutton? And kiss you all over? And run my tongue up and down all that delicious wetness?”
“Please.”
“Because you get so wet for me. I love how wet you get.”
“It’s you. You do this to me.”
“I love doing this to you. And you’d want me to bury my face between your legs?”
“God yes.”
“And you can grab my hair and pull me deeper and do whatever you f**king want to me because I won’t stop until you come.”
She licked her lips, opened her eyes, and looked into his face. He was as turned on as she was. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her. She wanted to be pounced on. She wanted to be taken.
“Please take me home right now and make me come.”
He threw a twenty on the table and did as she requested.
Chapter Ten
Reeve stopped by Jill’s apartment in the morning. He was nervous about tonight’s dinner. But he wasn’t sure why. Then he figured that he always got a little nervous before he went on stage, and that was probably the case here. Nerves were a good thing, right? When he was acting, he used those nerves to fuel his performance. Nerves made him sharp, they made him go deeper into the character. The more nerves he felt, the easier it was to let go of himself when he stepped on stage and immerse himself in the role he was playing.
Jill’s roommate Kat had just returned from Paris and was a wreck, Jill had told him. Reeve remembered the night he met Kat at the club in Soho. They’d chatted after the Les Mis performance and had talked about movies and their shared love of Joss Whedon. He’d even asked her out for a drink, but she’d said no and he’d had a feeling she was into someone else. Jill had confirmed as much a few days later. But right now, Reeve didn’t care. Because he was kinda into someone else too.
Jill buzzed him in and he bounded up the steps to the second floor apartment, the soles of his combat boots smacking the concrete in the stairwell. Jill flung the door open for him.
“How’s my favorite boy toy?” she said with a knowing grin.
He held out his hands, a satisfied smile on his face. Truth be told, he was kind of a wreck too. But he needed to get in character. He needed to play the part. After last night, he wasn’t sure where things stood. He’d taken Sutton back to her place, and done everything he promised he’d do to her. And she’d screamed and cried and thrashed and moaned in a way that made him want to spend the entire night deep inside her body, and then do it again, and make her beg for it. He had a feeling Sutton would be into that. That she’d like those kind of games. He’d tie her up somewhere, maybe the bedroom, maybe the kitchen, and he’d work her into such a frenzy with his tongue and his mouth, always pulling back right before she came. Until she slapped him across the cheek and said, “Fuck me now, please f**k me now, I’m begging you.”