Tangled(82)

She laughs at that one. And a single tear slips silently down her cheek.

“I want to talk to you until the sun comes up, and I want to bring you cereal in bed every Sunday. I want to work long, endless hours in this office, but only if you’re here next to me.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “Like a partnership? Fifty-fifty split?”

I shake my head. “No. Not fifty-fifty. You don’t get just half of me. You get all of me. A hundred percent.”

She breathes deep. And bites her lip. And glances down at her desk. Then her face goes slack.

“Where did you get that?”

It’s her parents’ wedding picture.

“I stole it from your office and had it copied while you were at lunch.”

She shakes her head slowly. And looks back up at me. In awe. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

I take a step forward. “I know you just got out of a relationship and I’ve never been in one. And I know I’m supposed to tell you that if you’re not ready, that it’s okay. That I’ll be patient and wait. But…if I say those things…I’ll be lying. Because…I’m just not a waiting kind of guy. I’m more of a take-the-bull-by-the-horns, keep-at-you-until-you-break-or-go-insane kind of guy.”

She chuckles again.

“So if this isn’t enough, if you need something more—tell me. No matter what it is, I’ll do it. For you.”

When I’m done, she just stands there. Staring at me.

She licks her lips and wipes her eyes. “I have some conditions.”

I nod cautiously.

“No lying. I mean it, Drew. When you tell me something, I have to know that it’s the truth. That you don’t have some ulterior motive.”

“Okay.”

“And no other women. I think I’m pretty adventurous in bed when it comes to you, but I’m monogamous. I don’t swing. I don’t do threesomes.”

Not a problem. My dick only has eyes for Kate.

“Me neither. Well, you know, not anymore. I mean…agreed.”

And then she smiles. And it’s blinding. Luminous.

Fucking incandescent.

And she steps toward me. “Well, Mr. Evans…it looks like you’ve got yourself a merger.”

And that’s all I need to hear.

I move like a spring that’s been cocked too tight for too long. And before Kate can take a breath, I’ve got her crushed against me—holding her, lifting her right off her feet.

Our mouths snap together like two magnets. She grips my shirt. And my tongue slides into her welcoming mouth.

Jesus. The taste of her—my memory was unforgivably inadequate. I feel like a recovering crack addict who just fell off the wagon and never wants to climb back on.

Our hands grope at each other. It’s explosive. Combustible.

Burn, baby, burn.

I drag my lips across her jaw. She tilts her head to give me more room, and I attack her neck. She’s panting. We both are. My hands are in her hair, holding her hostage. And her hands are on my chest skimming my ribs and waist. I have no fucking clue how she got my shirt opened. I’m just glad she did. My fingers whisper down her back to the hem of her dress. Then I slide them under it, cupping her smooth, firm ass.

She must be wearing a thong.

I massage and squeeze, pressing our hips together. Kate’s mouth replaces her hands, moving across my chest and lower. And I start to really fucking lose it. I grab the back of her dress in both hands and pull—ripping it almost in two. Kind of like the Incredible Hulk.

“I’ll buy you a new one, I swear.”

It falls to her waist. And our bare chests crash together.

Fuck me. I missed this. How in Christ did I ever go an hour—let alone days—without feeling her against me like this? Too fucking long.

“God, Drew.”

Her hands are across my back now. Scratching and kneading. My mouth is at her ear, demanding, “Whatever underwear you’ve got on? I’m keeping them.” I drop to my knees, scorching a path between her breasts and down her stomach.

Kate gasps. “That could be a problem.”

“Why?”

I drag her dress down to the floor. And then I stare—mesmerized—at Kate’s bare snatch.

“Because I’m not wearing any.”

My cock moans in agony. And then I look up at her. “You always go commando to business meetings with friends?”

She smiles shyly. “I guess I was hoping you’d change my mind about that.”

For a second, I’m stunned. She wanted this. Just as badly as I did. And I wasted all that time eating chicken Marsala—when I could have been eating her.

God.

Damn.

Without another word, I dive in. Like a toddler getting his first luscious taste of birthday cake. I sink my face—my tongue—into her pussy. She tastes warm and silky like the liquid sugar on top of a cinnamon bun, but sweeter.