Just Fooling Around(27)

“Open the window or break the glass,” she said. “Now.”

Fortunately for the super of Evan’s building, the window was unlocked. And since that was so damn convenient, she didn’t chastise him for what was a really stupid habit. Instead, she slid her hands over his chest, pushing him backward at the same time onto his bed, gratified to see that the fire escape had opened into the one room she most wanted to be in.

“Thank God,” Evan said, his fingers snared in the cotton of her shirt as he tugged it up and over her head. It stuck there for a moment, and he laughed as she struggled. But those struggles ceased when his hands cupped her breasts, pushing her bra up and freeing her flesh. His hands snaked to her back, and he unfastened the clasp, then tugged her free of the bra. At first she felt only the brush of his thumb over her nipples, each in turn. Then his hands disappeared and she, desperate to know what he was doing, attempted again to pull the shirt off her head.

She paused as she felt his mouth close over her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple even as his hand roamed the flesh of her belly, easing down until his fingers were dancing over the button of her jeans.

She couldn’t move, much less get herself free, and she arched her back, moaning, finally thrust back into action by the desperate desire to touch him the same way he was touching her.

With one solid yank, she tossed the shirt aside. His gaze was focused on her, his face pressed against the soft swell of her body, but he looked up, and his eyes said it all. This time, she watched him as she moaned.

“Evan,” she whispered, then slid her hands over his back. He still wore clothes, and that was unacceptable. With a laugh, she took hold of him by the shoulders, then rolled him over, the motion freeing her breast from his mouth. The air that rushed against her damp flesh made her tremble, not from a chill, but from the promise of what she knew was to come.

“Hey,” he said, as she pushed him flat onto the bed, then eased herself over to straddle him.

“Hey yourself.” His fingers had done their work on her jeans—the button was open and the zipper down. Now those same nimble fingers slid inside, tight between the denim and her crotch and the silk of her panties, moving with deliberate purpose over her soaking wet panties toward her clit.

She eased her hips up, ostensibly part of her movement to kiss him, but also to give him better access, then moaned as his finger slipped over her core, the sensation no less erotic because his hand was outside her panties.

In a bold movement, she pressed her mouth to his, claiming his, her hands on his shirt, her fingers fumbling at the buttons. With her tongue, she explored his mouth, learning the way he tasted, the way he responded, wanting to consume him and be consumed by him.

When she came up for air, she realized she hadn’t made progress on the shirt. “Damn,” she whispered.

“Really?” he said, raising an amused eyebrow.

“How much do you like this shirt?”

“At the moment, I’m feeling less than charitable toward it,” he admitted.

“Good.” She grabbed the sides and ripped it open, sacrificing a decent shirt and the flying buttons for the pleasure of quickly accessing his body.

His chest was warm with a smattering of hair, and she splayed her palms over him, her eyes closed as she explored with her hands and then with her mouth. His own hands were still exploring, and as her tongue flicked over his erect nipple, she shifted her hips, silently urging him to peel off her jeans.

He got the message, and his fingers left her sex long enough to grip the material at her hips and tug.

It wasn’t a maneuver that could be finished with her straddling him, her mouth on his chest, and apparently he realized that. She gasped as he flipped her over, then mimicked her position, with her straddling him, and his hands tugging and pulling until she was free of both jeans and panties.

“You, too,” she demanded, gratified when he nimbly and quickly stripped. “If you say you have no condoms in this apartment, then I’ll admit to my entire family that I believe in the curse of the Franklins.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being the cause of weakening your convictions,” he said with a smile, then leaned to the left and tugged open a bedside table. She mentally applauded, but let him handle the sheathing himself—her fingers were shaking too much in anticipation.

But oh, sweet heaven it was worth the wait. His fingers stroked her first, and as he did, she clutched his back, her fingernails digging into his flesh, her mind wiped of any thought except pleasure—giving and receiving.

“No more,” she said, desperate for him to be inside her. “Now, dammit, before I go completely crazy.”