Cruz lifted his head, leaving just enough space between their mouths to speak. His voice was raw and filled with so much anguish, it brought stinging tears to Mia’s eyes. “I saw the world without you, and it was a grim, bleak fucking place I didn’t want to inhabit.”
Taking his hand, she pressed it between her breasts, over her rapidly beating heart. “I’m here. Very much alive.”
His back was reflected in the opposite mirror, his muscles flexing like polished, satiny copper over steel. The mirror felt cold on her practically bare ass. His skin burned hot inches from hers. Skimming her hand between them, she unerringly slipped the button at the top of his zipper free. His penis was a hard ridge behind the denim—not easy to liberate, but not impossible. Mia managed one-handed to tug his jeans partway down his thighs. No underwear for Cruz. “Thank you—this makes it so much easier.” She curled her fingers around the satiny length of his penis.
“I was thinking of you when I dressed this morning.” He arched his back as she stroked her thumb over the damp tip. The veins under the satin pulsed and throbbed, which in turn made her even wetter.
Mia saw herself in the mirror behind him. The twin scraps of sheer red enhanced rather than hid what she had for him.
He made a leisurely trip from her breast down her midriff, making her dizzy and her legs feel as insubstantial as jelly.
“We’re not making any stops, are we?”
“Do you really care?”
“Nope. Don’t give a flying fuck if your entire company watches us right now.”
It terrified her that she didn’t either. “Then it’s a good thing this will take us directly to the apartment.” In about three seconds . . .
She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her six-inch Louboutin heels into the taut curve of his flexing ass. His penis jumped and twitched in the firm grip of her fingers.
Filling his hands with her butt cheeks, he lifted her completely off her feet as the doors slid soundlessly open. Mia crossed her ankles in the small of his back as he stepped directly into her living room, flooded with sunlight.
“Nice.” He dismissed the thirty-million-dollar view of the San Francisco skyline. The pale gray-blue walls, the sleek Ultrasuede furniture of the same color, the tasteful artwork. All of which melted into the vast sky seen through towering ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall windows.
Smiling, Mia dragged her mouth off the pulse she was exploring at the base of his throat to mumble, “Bedroom’s that way.” Then, after a quick tilt of her chin, went back to kissing his throat.
The next thing she knew, she was falling through space as Cruz followed her down onto the plush cushions of one of the deep sofas overlooking the view.
He grinned down at her. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen from him. Her heart did cartwheels as he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “This,” he said, nibbling a path from her ear to her mouth, “will do nicely, Mia mine.”
Chapter Twenty-one
No mas.” Mia flung both arms out in surrender. “That was amazing.” The words came out in short, choppy bursts, and her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. “If we live through the next few minutes, let’s do it again. Exactly like that.”
Cruz chuckled, too spent to respond. He took almost as much pleasure in holding her warm, satiated body as he did in the act itself. Almost. He loved the hot comfort of skin against skin. The feel of her erratic breath against his damp throat, and the clutch of her vaginal walls holding him deep inside her. He was still partially erect, and the pulse of her muscles made him hard, again, in a minute.
Glued together by sweat, they lay together. He nuzzled her damp throat and laid a string of kisses across her shoulder, then abruptly twisted his body to lever Mia up and over. Her legs settled between his, her soft breasts plumped on his chest. The smell of her, hot come and tuberoses, was indelibly stamped into his synapses. Her unique fragrance was as heady as if he’d drunk too much scotch. He had the same altered perceptions and euphoria as he imagined a drunk must feel. Although he’d never abdicated that much control in his life.
She rested her chin on her double fists as he smoothed aside sweat-damp strands of hair sticking to her cheek. “I’m drunk on you, you know that?” He loved her like this. Soft, satiated with sex, intensely focused. The hand on her head trailed a light touch down her damp back. “Every damn thing about you is intoxicating. Heady. Addicting.”
“It’s rarely flattering to a woman to be bare-ass naked in direct sunlight. You, on the other hand, look like a bronze god. It’s incredibly unfair.”