Pitch Imperfect(5)

He shook her hand, the pressure short and perfunctory. “Goodbye.”

Icy wind slapped his words into her face and she shivered, but it was his voice that froze her, sliding over her heart like the snow melting on her cheek. She didn’t want his voice to affect her like this, to remind her of what could have been. Rob’s baritone should be like any other man’s, shaping a farewell into two brisk notes, F sharp, D flat. Why didn’t she say anything, something that would erase the bitter expression from his face? But then, what could she say to excuse what she had done to him?

“Rob.”

It was a cry from the bottom of her heart, a plea she hadn’t even known she was going to make. Before Anjuli knew it she had breached the distance between them and pulled him inside.

“Kiss me,” she said, leaning up to press her mouth to his.

His body was rigid. “You’re drunk.”

Anjuli flattened herself against his chest and kissed his neck. How could he feel so warm when she was frozen to the bone? In her high-heeled boots her hips were almost level with his and she could feel him lengthening against her, struggling with his desire. His hands went to her waist, but she didn’t let him push her away.

“Damn it, lass, you’re no’ yourself.”

And who might that person be? She didn’t know anymore. Somebody else had taken over her body and wanted her to take over his.

“You need to sleep it off,” Rob said gruffly.

“No, what I need is to have sex. With you.”

Oh God, had she really said that? She wasn’t a hormonal teenager, she was a hormonal tart. She never threw herself at men—could hardly remember the last time she’d invited a man to her flat, let alone had sex with one. But she could think of nothing she wanted more than to be in bed with Rob. Right here, right now. And he felt it too. Anjuli reached for the evidence and a hoarse, guttural sound came from deep inside Rob’s chest.

“Remember how good it was between us, Rob? How you loved being inside me? How I used to make you come?”

His face was taut, hands firm as he set her away. “I’ll come back in the morning, and then we can talk.”

Anjuli stared at his back in disbelief. Rob wanted her, she knew it. But he was going to reject her, leave her to face the darkness. Alone. She unbuttoned her silky shirt, tearing it off in her haste.

“Wait.”

Rob turned. “No, Anju—”

His eyes widened and his dark skin flushed. She’d worn a low balconette bra, and her cleavage overflowed the burgundy lace. Lurching slightly, Anjuli drew nearer, eyes on Rob’s erection. His didn’t waver from her breasts and her nipples tightened in response. Kissing and sucking them had been one of his favourite ways to make them both hot.

Anjuli took his hand and put it on her breast. “Take me to bed.”

“No, lass.” Husky words, spoken quickly.

“Please Rob, I want you so much,” she whispered, pulling his head down. She pressed her lips to his, stroked into his mouth, teasing his tongue until he groaned and kissed her back. Yes! This was what she needed. Rob’s silky hair under her fingers, his hard body against hers. His mouth devouring hers, erasing everything but frantic need. She wanted him to make her forget her sorrow, if only for a few moments.

The same hands that had tried to set her away tightened and crushed her closer, grinding soft curves against hard ridges. He stole her breath and returned it, heating her until she was burning, desperate for him to penetrate her body the way he did her dreams.

His voice was thick with urgency. “Where?”

Tuxedo jacket, shirt, skirt, trousers. A clothing trail to Anjuli’s bedroom, left behind as they kissed and stroked, tugged and tore and discarded. The room tilted, or maybe it was her, then the heady scent of Rob’s naked flesh was in her nostrils, the taste of his skin on her lips. She licked his shoulder, savouring the texture of firm, rippling muscles against her tongue.

Rob’s hands strummed her thighs and spread her legs. She was slick with need, cleaving to his touch, sighing with pleasure as he explored her slowly, deliberately. Once, twice...ten excruciating strokes, until she begged him for more. She needed him closer, deeper within her.

“Inside me,” she demanded, raking her nails down his back.

Her heart pumped so loudly she was only vaguely aware of him fitting on a condom, until she glanced down and couldn’t concentrate on anything else. She stared at his cock in wonder. Long and thick, exactly as she remembered, his engorged crown flushed a darker tone than the rest of him. Even covered in thin latex she could feel the thick vein pumping along the side of his scorching shaft.