Breathe for Me(14)

She stood right at the back of the small space, planting her feet a little apart as if she were bracing for a blow... or something. The atmosphere thickened. Each beat of her heart slammed in her ears. She wanted, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. She just stared at him until it seemed the rest of the world had disappeared. Stupidly dizzy she leaned back, letting the wall support her. A sweet poison spread along her veins, causing need to uncurl in every cell and heighten her senses. Languorous, yet on edge, she waited, reading the heat in his expression. The dare, the desire. The demand.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. She peeled away from the wall, dragging her attention from him and making herself move out onto her floor. Reality returned as she walked to her door. She couldn’t do this. A one night stand in the afternoon with a virtual stranger? It was preposterous. It wasn’t the kind of thing she ever did. And she couldn’t do it now.

“You can’t look at me like that and then just walk away.” His low, teasing whisper came from right behind her.

For the merest moment she paused, touched by that smile in his voice.

His arms encircled her. Tightly.

She closed her eyes, stunned at the rush of warmth and need that flooded within her. “This is crazy.”

“That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“I never do this.”

“That still doesn’t make it wrong.”

Slowly, testingly, she tried to move. His grip loosened only enough for her to pivot on the spot. She stared up at him. His intention—his desire—was clear.

“One afternoon. One fantasy. Just one.” His eyes were dominated by the huge dark pupils in the center, drawing her into their velvety temptation—warm, liquid pools. “Chelsea?”

She was as breathless as if she’d been fighting for her freedom. He’d done nothing except say a few things and come after her, yet she was unbearably turned on—aching for a moment of physical intimacy.

Her first time in so long should be good, right? Should be free? She mightn’t be ready for a relationship, but now she was definitely ready for touch. For release. And he was offering. She knew he’d give her better than good.

But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say the word she knew he wanted to hear.

He switched his grip, tightening one arm around her waist while lifting the other hand to gently brush through her hair. His smile deepened as his action brought him that little bit closer. Chelsea held her breath as he tugged at the elastic band she’d used to tie it back with.

As her hair fell free he dropped his hand to her waist. Ever so slowly he slid upwards to lightly cup her breast. His eyes never wavered as he watched her reaction to his caress.

There was no hiding her reaction. She pressed her lips tight but her slight moan still sounded. She clamped her muscles yet they still shuddered with that simplest of intimate touches. She’d been burning since before lunch, it only took this little expression of his desire to ignite her again.

His hand moved, his thumb smoothly rubbing, sliding over her taut nipple. His other arm tightened round her waist, pulling her closer into his heat while at the same time he stepped forward, backing her up against her door, giving her the support her jello-legs needed.

She pressed her palms flat against the wood at her back, struggling to regain her balance and strength. She didn’t want to resist this, but she couldn’t reach out and touch him. She hovered, trapped in a horrible moment of uselessness. It was like she was locked in an invisible cage.

Time slowed as he moved forward, his lips twisted in that dangerously cocky smile. He pressed a tiny teasing kiss on her cheek, very near her sensitive ear. A light brush of lips, then another—only this time there was a hint of a nip of teeth.

A promise of both passion and play.

That was what she wanted. He drew back and looked in her eyes, smiling again at whatever he saw there. Then he bent and pressed another too tiny, too tormenting kiss a mere millimeter from her mouth. And another. And another.

So close, but not quite.

Chelsea licked her lips as he kept teasing. But still he didn’t kiss her full on the mouth, didn’t claim her with his tongue like she was craving him to.

And then, as he brushed and nibbled, he swept his hands in tandem—from her waist to her hips and back up again to her breasts and back down. Learning her curves. Then the pattern diverged. He lifted one hand back to cup her breast while he slid the other beneath the waistband of her skirt.

He had no hesitation.

She had no resistance.

Her eyes closed. The impact of his sensuality intensified. Over the top of her shirt he stroked her nipple into a stiff, all-but-screaming peak, but he slid his other hand slowly but firmly lower still—into her knickers.

Chelsea shivered as his fingers spread slightly. His middle finger rubbed over the narrow strip of her hair, his other fingers slipped over her smooth bare skin. They converged again right at the top of her thighs, almost touching her already swollen, ready clitoris. Her fists clenched, her knuckles pressing into the hard wood as her whole body tensed. But he bypassed that needy spot and worked lower still—fingers following her curves.

Reckless, responsive, her hips rocked the once—pushing her closer to his hand. She needed more. She felt the smile on his lips as he kissed her face yet again. Still not her mouth. Still not enough.

Now his lips trailed south, nibbling at the vulnerable skin of her neck. She tilted her head fractionally, wordlessly letting him access more of her.

All of her.

She was lost in the darkness, in the heat. Her muscles slackened, yet tension coiled deep within—as if all her energy was gathering, preparing for action. Hot, wet, she was ready to writhe on him. She’d hurtled back to this point so quickly, she wanted to leap from it this time. She wanted him to fulfil the promise his teasing touch made. She wanted him to do whatever he wanted. And she could feel what he wanted in the surety of his fingers, in the hardness of the legs pressing against hers.

And yet she couldn’t move. He didn’t either—didn’t take her mouth, didn’t plunge deep, didn’t do anything more.

A woeful whimper escaped her. She wanted him to do everything.

He lifted his lips from her neck at her small sound. Chelsea opened her eyes, holding her breath.

“You want me to take control?” he said, his voice roughened. He kept that intense focus, reading her every damn expression. “You want me to lead?”

Chelsea didn’t care whether he was questioning or commenting—only that he understood something she’d yet to admit to herself. She didn’t stop to think about it. Didn’t care about anything as long as he kept stroking her. He moved his fingers, slipping through her wet heat, so close to sliding right inside her. She sucked in a half breath. Waiting. Wanting.

“Chelsea?” He waited too, not moving that half-millimeter she so badly needed.

Her lungs still rigid, she forced herself to respond. A sharp, jerky nod. She pressed her lips together.

Damn. She didn’t know why she couldn’t get the words out. Why she couldn’t move—to reach out and take. She should be able to do better than this. She was an adult, fully responsible for her own actions.

But action seemed to be impossible. She swallowed back the brick in her throat, struggled to explain. “I’m sorry to be so… selfish and…”

She stopped, her breathing choppy. Why were the words so hard to say? Why was she so choked? Why so tense?

With a single finger, he slowly stroked her again. “And?”

Her hips moved in a slow, small circle. “Lazy,” she whispered.

His smile flashed, lighting his whole face. “Don’t be sorry. I can handle taking control. And I can see how much you want me. From the look in your eyes to the sweetness of your body.”

She blinked, but couldn’t break their eye contact.

“And I’m sure that if I slide inside you now, I’ll feel just how much you want me,” he added.

Her belly quivered. Deeper, where she wanted him to delve and discover the truth he already knew. Her body clenched on unhappily empty space. She wanted him to fill her. To satisfy her.

Now.

He bent his head. “I’m going to take,” he said, low and rough, right into her ear. “And I’m not going to let you be lazy.” His laugh was a shot of warm air. “So you don’t need to worry about that.” He lifted his head to read her response.

Unaware—uncaring—of what her own expression might be revealing, she stared at the implacable determination in his face. She shivered.

Something shifted in his eyes—his sudden smile softened the hungry edge.

“I understand that you can’t tell me exactly what you want yet,” he said quietly. “But if you say ‘no’, I’ll listen.” He angled his head to look even deeper into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

Warmth flooded her. She licked her lips, then swallowed. The action made no difference to how parched she felt—so hot. It was like she’d been struck by a solar flare and was sizzling. There was no shelter, no shade. And he had no mercy.

“Say my name so I know you understand.” His voice hardened.

Another shiver wracked her. His command made her want wetter.

“Say my name.”

She gasped as he repeated his demand—rougher. She swallowed again, trying to loosen her tense vocal cords. But this she could do. This felt right. “Xander.” The tiniest whisper.