Sophie Jordan - Tease

“H-hi, Georgia. Good. It was good.” Did that breathy, throaty voice belong to me? “I-uh, bumped into Shaw.” I motioned to him with a weak wave of my hand. He still held my hand and did not appear inclined to let go. In fact, his jaw was locked and he looked rather incapable of speech.

“Hi,” he managed to get out. Twin brackets edged his tight-looking mouth. “How’s it going?” His voice actually sounded like it was in pain. I shot him a helpless look. Maybe this was a sign? Maybe we just needed to take a minute and—

He shook his head swiftly at me as though he could read the direction of my thoughts, his eyes searing and intent.

“Well. I-uh, was just on my way out.”

At this statement my attention whipped back to Georgia. “You’re leaving?” My heart picked up speed again.

“Yeah. I’m uh, going to study at Harris’s place. You two can hang out here.” Bending over in her chair, she quickly stuffed her feet into her tennis shoes. Rising, she crammed her books and a notebook into her backpack. Shaw and I stood awkwardly, tension swimming in the air around us. I’m sure Georgia could feel it, too.

It was clear she was leaving so we could be alone. I knew it. Shaw knew it. She knew we knew it. Considering that, it felt silly to pretend otherwise, but we did.

At the door, she grabbed her coat off its hook. “Well, night. Good seeing you again, Shaw.”

He gave her a distracted smile. “You, too.”

“Bye, Em.”

With that parting farewell, the door clicked shut after her. And we were all alone.

I SLIPPED MY HAND from his and stepped back, all nerves again. We’d been alone before, but everything felt stripped away right now. Exposed. He’d seen the painting. I couldn’t pretend anymore that he didn’t affect me. He knew he did, and he wasn’t going away this time. I couldn’t make him leave.

I didn’t want to.

I slipped the strap of my small handbag from my wrist and dropped it onto my cluttered desktop. His feet moved in a slow half circle as his eyes followed me.

“How long have you been working on that painting?”

Oh. He was going right for the jugular then and cornering me about the painting. I angled my head as I slid off his jacket and draped it on the back of my chair. Shrugging lamely, I slipped off my earrings. Dropping them on my desk, I said simply, “I don’t want to talk about the painting.”

“Say nothing. Reveal nothing. That’s your MO.” He approached me with slow steps and I felt stalked. I moved aimlessly, staying just out of his reach, wishing the room was bigger right then as he closed in on me. “But silence reveals, too, you know.”

“Yeah? And what have I revealed?”

“You’re scared of me.”

I shook my head fiercely.

“Yes,” he announced, smiling grimly. “Because you feel something for me.”

My heart beat faster. “Arrogant, aren’t we?”

“That’s my face up on the wall at your fancy art show. Not any other guy’s. Admit it. You like me.”

I snorted. “Maybe I just think you’re hot . . . a good subject to paint.”

“You like me,” he repeated, pausing to reach behind his neck and pull his shirt over his head. My chest ached, actually hurt as I took in his masculine beauty. At the hard abs that could probably break a fist.

“Maybe I just want to fuck you,” I flung out, waving at him with a shaky hand. “You said I’d beg you to. And I mean, look at you. You look like someone who would be good at it.”

His eyes almost appeared dilated they were so dark. His smile deepened with satisfaction, and there was such wicked promise in the curve of his lips that I knew I was in good hands.

His gaze dropped, skimming my body. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.”

His hand toyed with the thin blue belt that wrapped around my waist. It took me only a second to realize he wasn’t merely toying with it. As though he knew exactly how it functioned, he undid the tiny silver bow that clasped at the front. It fell to the floor with a soft thud.

“I bet it would look even better on the floor.” He bent slightly, watching my face as he clutched the hem of my dress and pulled it up over my head in one swift move.

A cool draft swept over me. It was just me in my bra and panties. Black satin and lace. His breath caught. Just a few inches separated us, but he didn’t touch me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body to mine but he didn’t lift a finger to touch me. He only stared at me, his gaze hot and devouring.

I moved to kick off my heels but his voice stopped me. “Leave them on.”

I froze under his perusal, resisting the urge to cover myself with my hands. I had never been the shy type, but with him I was. With him everything was different. Everything was new.

He wrapped his arms around me. I reveled at his maleness, at the flex of his biceps. Our foreheads touched as he spoke, the words fanning my lips, “I’ll take what you’re willing to give me, Emerson.” His hands gripped my bottom. “For now.” In one move, he lifted me off my feet and guided my legs around his waist. “We can start here.”

Then he was kissing me again. Hot, drugging kisses as he carried me slowly to the bed, his big hands clenching on my bottom, singeing me through my panties as his mouth slanted one way and then the next.

I wrapped my arms around him, relishing the sensation of his back under my fingers, the quiver of his smooth flesh as he carried me.

He sat down on the bed with me straddling his lap. His hands moved to my face, broad palms cupping my cheeks, fingers burrowing into my hair as we kissed, our heads angling as if we couldn’t taste enough of each other.

There was no such thing as too close. My breasts smashed against his chest. I was desperate, hungry for more of him, loving the hard strength of him surrounding me. The pressure of his mouth increased. He nipped me with his teeth before dragging his open mouth down my throat. When he got to where my shoulder and neck met, he bit down, not hard enough to hurt but enough for me to release a shuddery moan.

He slipped the thin straps of my bra down my shoulders until the cups sagged loose. He closed both hands over my aching breasts. I arched into his palms. His dark head descended and his mouth closed over one nipple, drawing it deep into the warm heat of his mouth.

“Oh, God,” I cried, burying my hands in his hair and holding him to me. “Don’t stop.”

He moved his mouth to my other breast, his words fanning over my moist nipple. “We’re just getting started. This is going to take all night.”

A shudder ran through me at his words, at what his mouth was doing to me. I felt his hands at my back, unhooking the clasp of my bra. It fell down between us. The only thing barring me from complete nudity was the slight scrap of my underwear. His hands gripped my waist and ground me down harder against his erection. Moaning, I widened my thighs and rocked against him, searching for relief. He felt delicious, hard and insistent against the heat of me, and I throbbed. My belly clenched with need and I writhed, wiggling desperately against him, losing whatever rhythm I’d found in my rocking movements. My panties grew wet. I couldn’t take another minute of this. My fingers dug into his back, urging him on.

My dazed gaze focused on his face. “Please.”

“What? What do you want?”

My hands went for his belt, fingers fumbling, hating that he still wore his jeans. That I wore my panties. That there was any barrier at all between us. “This. I want you. Inside me.”

There. I’d said it. I didn’t even regret it. I just wanted it to happen. Now.

In one swift move, he lifted me off him and set me down on the bed. I watched, every part of me trembling as he stood and made quick work of removing his boots and jeans.

He stood before me in tight black briefs that did nothing to hide the hard outline of him. My eyes widened at the sight of his bulge. I squeezed my thighs together in an attempt to assuage the pulsing ache at my core, but it didn’t work. There was only one cure for that and I was staring right at him.

I slid off the bed and stood before him. I touched his face lightly, loving the bristly scrape of his cheek under my fingers.

His eyes ate me up. “Emerson,” he breathed. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my palm. Wrapping his arms around me, he lifted me off my feet, his forearm coming under my bottom, bringing me to eye level.

He came down over me on the bed. I felt small and delicate as he kissed his way down my body. He was so much bigger than me, hard and muscled, and I felt fragile. Cherished. Loved.

His hands hooked around my panties and slid them down my thighs and past my ankles. I couldn’t summon the slightest will to resist. No protest jumped to my lips. Shockingly enough, I felt like everything in my life had been leading to this moment where I finally released control. When I finally trusted someone else. When I let Shaw in.

His fingers touched me, feather light, skimming up the inside of my thighs, I arched, clawing my duvet cover as his fingers found me, parted me, and delved into my heat.

“Shaw,” I choked out, bewildered as his thumb found that tiny, hidden nub and pressed down on it, and then rolled it between his fingers. He’d done this to me before, but the memory paled in comparison to this moment. To now. “Shaw, please.”

“Not yet.” He slid down my body and put his mouth there. I screeched and came up off the bed. He flattened a hand against my belly, holding me down as his fingers pushed and pulled back the tiny hood of my clit, drawing it between his lips, his tongue playing against me as he sucked.