My attempts to grind against him draw a rough chuckle from his throat. I’m close to unraveling, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
He deepens the kiss. I dig my fingers harder into his shoulders and whimper with need. The taste of his mouth is intoxicatingly familiar. Memories from that night on the river come flooding back—the way he smelled and tasted, the sound of his voice, the heat of his skin. I’m shocked that I hadn’t instantly recognized him when he pulled me over. I’m sure jetlag had a lot to do with it, but if he hadn’t told me, would I ever have known? I’m not altogether certain.
And no, learning that he hadn’t connected the dots at first, either, doesn’t help. It seems like, were it not for the serendipitous circumstance of my having an out-of-date picture on my license, we would never have known. Which only fuels my sense of urgency. We came so close—too close!—to missing each other. I need him now!
I wrench my mouth away from his long enough to gasp, “Take me to bed. I want you naked.”
“Mmph,” he mumbles, his response lost as I seal his mouth once more. I assume we’re in agreement, however, since he immediately hefts me more fully into his arms, pivots away from the wall and lurches through his apartment until we reach his bedroom. There, he releases his hold on me.
I’m breathing hard and so is he. I sink onto the bed before my knees give out and then watch transfixed as he quickly toes out of his shoes, peels off his shirt, and begins to undo his pants.
He's lean and sleekly muscled. His chest is lightly furred, his abdomen is bisected by the narrow trail of dark hair that runs from his sternum to his groin. There’s so much yumminess, and I can’t stop myself from staring. Damn. My mouth is watering. My hands are itching. I want to lick him all over, touch him everywhere.
“What are you doing?” he asks, as his hands stall on the fly of his jeans.
Reluctantly, I raise my gaze to his face, only to find him eyeing me critically. “What?” I’m surprised into asking. Does he not like that I’m staring? He doesn’t seem like the shy type. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
He gestures at me impatiently. “You, too: naked, now. Strip.”
“Oh. Right.” I can’t keep from grinning as I hurry to comply, kicking off my own shoes, pulling my dress off over my head, unclasping my bra. I love that he’s as eager as I am.
Or maybe even more eager. Because, before either of us have removed our underwear—black boxer briefs on his part, a lacy thong (as previously mentioned) on mine—he joins me on the bed. Rolling me into his arms, surrounding me with his heat. His lips find mine and we’re kissing again, hands roving everywhere, skimming over each other’s bodies, stoking the fires that—swear to God—feel like they’ve been smoldering for years.
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