“Your mouth is driving me crazy, shortcake. Do us both a favor, and tell me not to kiss you.”
Her lips part gently. Her tongue peeks out to wet them.
My body tightens.
“Why would I do that when I’m aching for you to kiss me?”
Shit.
I still my hand around her nape and lift her face to mine. Her plump lips part gently. Her lashes flutter. Her breathing quickens.
It’s only a kiss. We’re in semi-public. It can’t get too crazy, right?
But nothing with Echo is ever “normal.”
Before I can take her mouth, she lifts on her tiptoes and fuses her lips to mine. They’re soft, pillowy, and warm. Right on cue, that sweet, sweet scent of hers fills my nose. Then she wraps her arms around my neck with a little moan and plasters her breasts against me. The points of her nipples drill into my chest.
Is it hot in this elevator, or is it just me?
Somehow, she nestles even closer. Every curve of her body fits against a plane of mine. Then she wriggles like she’s dying to get closer. Tingles rush through me. My blood heats. My cock nearly bursts through my zipper. Hunger surges. I stop thinking as I grip her hips and press her to my aching shaft. Echo doesn’t protest, just gasps into my kiss and melts against me.
The little ding announcing that the elevator has reached our floor makes me snarl with frustration. The doors start to slide shut again when I lift Echo and carry her out. We step onto the breezeway as the car disappears, panting hard and staring at each other.
Her eyes search mine, earnest and dark with desire.
Would it be so terrible if I gave Echo what she wants? What her eyes are pleading for right now?
Yes. Forget your cock. Think of your best friend.
“Come on.” My voice sounds both soft and scratchy as I take her hand and lead her to our room.
When we step inside, the radio she left on in the background belts out Harry Styles’s summery, sexual “Watermelon Sugar.” The song matches our mood.
“Hayes?” she murmurs as I lock the door behind us.
The desire dripping from her voice makes me stiffen. “Yeah, shortcake?”
“It’s going to hurt the first time, right?”
The thought of Echo losing her virginity kills me because she’ll be with someone else. But that’s best for her, so I tamp down my violent thoughts and this weird jealousy.
“Yeah, but we don’t have to rush into this.”
She drops her purse on the nearby table and pads back to me. “We’re not rushing. I’m ready.”
I was afraid she was going to say that.
Time to start the next phase of my plan: pour her some wine, kiss her thoroughly, put my hand under her skirt, give her an orgasm or two—and hope she falls asleep. Rinse and repeat for the rest of the week.
But as usual, Echo destroys my carefully laid plans.
Reaching behind her neck, she unfastens her dress. I hold my breath as she pulls one arm free, then the other. The bodice falls to her waist, completely exposing her pale breasts and their juicy, berry-tipped nipples.
Oh, holy shit.
I’m in trouble.
“Shortcake…” I scrub a hand across my face and stare. I can’t move. Or breathe. Hell, I don’t even want to blink and miss a second of her.
Biting her lip in the shadowy room, Echo reaches around to the small of her back. A quiet hiss tells me she’s drawing down the zipper.
“Wait. Let me do that.” Later. Much later.
But it’s already too late.
The lacy dress slides down her thighs and pools at her feet. Then she’s wearing nothing but high heels and a pair of panties the same color as her flesh. The front panel is simple. Plain cotton with a tiny silk bow directly beneath her belly button. Unlike my fantasies, the fabric isn’t transparent, but reality proves excruciatingly sexier because I can’t see her pussy. What I can see? The tight fabric clinging to her swollen folds and an obvious wet spot.
She’s that aroused, and I’ve barely touched her?
Knowing I’m the man turning her on stomps all over my good intentions.
She steps out of her dress, trembling as she turns to drape the garment over a chair. I get a look at the lush jut of her ass. The simple cotton fronting her panties is gone, replaced by a sheet of lace so delicate and thin I see every inch of the high, firm flesh flaring between her hips, the delicate line bisecting those juicy globes beneath her tiny waist, and the round cheeks curving below the edge of the lace, leading my stare directly to the shadows between her thighs that shield her untouched pussy. Suddenly, I want to see it, touch it, taste it, and take it—way more than I should.
Dragging in a breath, I try to form words—hell, thoughts—when she steps out of her shoes and closes the six feet between us on soft, silent feet. She stops short of touching me. “Say something.”