“Anne.”
“Mal.”
“What’s going on?”
“The night isn’t ending this way,” I told him, perfectly calm. “I won’t let it.”
He looked at me like I’d started speaking in tongues. Which was actually an excellent idea, given I had no real idea what the problem was here.
I slipped my hands around the back of his neck. Now I got why he always did this, the skin was so soft and warm there. In all honesty, I had no idea what to say; kissing him made much more sense than blurting out the wrong thing again. I brushed my lips against his, plump and perfect. His swift intake of breath was music to my ears. Given half a chance, I could have paid homage to his lips all night. Hooker lips. No other man was this kissable.
“I hate seeing you sad.”
We stared at each other, our faces close. Whatever was going on with him, hurting him, it needed to stay away from the here and now. Mal and I had earned this moment. He’d just forgotten it somewhere along the way, gotten sidetracked. Lucky for him, I hadn’t.
“Whatever it is, let me fix it. Just for a little while …”
I angled my head and kissed him, tracing my tongue over his lips. He tasted wonderful. Already my hips shifted restlessly in his lap, seeking more. I was in heat and it was all his fault, so he’d just have to deal with it. With a groan he gave up and opened his mouth. Fuck, I loved the feel of his tongue, the sweet taste of him. It went straight to my head, making me giddy.
He didn’t hesitate. His hands slid up my legs, under my skirt, going straight for the kill, god love him.
“Need something?” he asked, fingers stroking over my thighs.
“You.”
“Fuck. Anne.” His mouth chased mine, pushing for more, deeper. And holy hell, was I happy to give. The tips of his clever fingers stroked the crotch of my panties, making every corner of me light up in response. If anything stopped us this time, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.
“Keep doing that,” I panted, tugging the tie from his ponytail to loosen his hair.
“You don’t want this instead?” The pad of his thumb pressed against my clit, moving in small circles.
“Oh, god.” My head fall back, sensation rushing through me. I was so turned on it was embarrassing. The damp fabric of my panties told the tale. But we’d had days and days of foreplay, really. Long before I’d met him I’d wanted him, though reality far exceeded my expectations. Mal Ericson was my dream come true. The kissathon at David and Ev’s, lying awake missing him last night, these things had already pushed me to the edge. Safety and sensible be damned. I’d get as much of him as I could for as long as I could.
“That’s it,” he murmured.
I pushed forward against his hand, seeking more. He cradled the back of my skull, holding up my head so he could see. “You are so fucking pretty. Have I told you that?”
No idea. And if he expected me to answer, he’d be waiting a while.
“I should’ve told you that,” he said.
I just stared at him, dazed. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. The elegant lines of his face made me want to write bad poetry. And the sound of his voice, his words, they were all so perfect and good. But then my insides tightened, and there was nothing there to hold on to. I was so horribly empty I ached.
“I need …” Forget talking. I started tearing at his belt buckle instead, ripping into the button and zip of his jeans. My thigh muscles burned from gripping him and if the car stopped suddenly I’d be in serious trouble.
“You can have whatever you want, Anne. Just ask for it.”
“I want you.”
Fingers traced the seam of my sex, making my head swim.
“How do you want me?” he asked, his hand coaxing a moan from me. I rested my cheek against his, lungs struggling for air. “Hmm?”
“Inside me.” Words were a hassle and so was his zipper. “Mal, please … stop playing with me.”
“But you love me playing with you.”
I held his face in my hands, my mouth rigid. “Enough.”
Just as well I was sitting down, otherwise his smile would have floored me. Arrogant, gorgeous bastard.
“Okay.” Mal pulled his hand out from under my skirt. I could have wept for the loss of the lovely pressure. Much more important, however, to get him into me as soon as humanly possible.
“Hop off a sec,” he said.
He lifted me aside and pushed down his jeans and underwear, dug a condom out of his pocket. I stopped dead at the sight of his cock, jutting out large and loud. I needed more time to look. How mad would he get if I tried to take a picture? It would be purely for my own personal use, of course.