He’s watching me. And I’m watching him. When everyone else starts to count down, he does too, his voice soft.
Just for me.
“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.”
I join him.
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
“Happy New Year, Birdy.” His face is so close, his lips brush mine when he speaks.
“Happy New Year,” I murmur just before I kiss him.
Despite the yelling and shouting from our party goers, I also can hear the dull explosions of fireworks shooting into the air. The roar of people welcoming the new year down on the streets. I pull away, to watch the fireworks. Red and white blasts of color fill the sky, and Crew slips his arm around my shoulders, tucking me into him, his glass clinking next to mine.
“To the new year,” he says.
“To the new year,” I repeat before we both take a drink.
The champagne fizzes in my throat and I take another sip, eventually draining the glass. Crew does the same, taking my glass from me and setting them on a nearby table before he grabs my hand and leads me back to his bedroom.
We forget about everyone else. We’re only focused on each other.
It’s dark inside, the curtains open to let in the light from the skyscrapers, and when he pulls me to him, I go willingly. A soft moan leaves me when he races his hands up and down my sides, his fingers gathering the fabric of my dress.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he says just before his mouth is on mine and I open to him completely, my tongue darting out to meet his. The kiss is decadent. His mouth tastes of champagne and when his hands slip beneath the hem of my dress to land on my bare backside, I shiver.
He goes completely still. “You don’t have panties on.”
“I don’t have a bra on either,” I tell him.
The hungry gleam in his eyes sends heat rushing between my legs and he quickly turns me around so my back is to him. He drifts his fingers across my exposed skin before tugging on the zipper. Pulling it down until the dress becomes loose on my body, falling forward. He pushes it off of me with impatient hands until it’s a heap around my feet and I kick it away, about to slip off my gold stiletto sandals when he stops me, his hand resting on my naked hip.
“Keep them on,” he practically growls.
I do as he asks, and when he turns me to face him once more, our mouths meet hungrily, his hands seemingly everywhere at once. On my waist, my hips. My breasts. My nipples. He cups me between my thighs, his fingers teasing, dipping inside, and I relax my thigh muscles as much as I can, wanting more.
“I want to fuck you against the wall.”
My entire body lights up at his suggestion.
Hmm. We’ve never done that before.
Next thing I know I’m against his bedroom wall, close to the windows, the city lit up before us. In the recent past, I would be freaking out, afraid someone might see us. Me. Completely naked.
Now I don’t even care. I’m too drunk on desire for him. The need to feel him moving inside my body overpowering everything else.
Slowly, he presses his fully-clothed body into my naked one and I hiss out a breath, my skin coming alive at the brush of his shirt and pants on my skin. He kisses my neck, his hands lightly resting on my hips, his mouth drifting down to my collarbone. My chest. He bends his knees, his lips wrapping around one nipple, and I thrust my hands in his hair, holding him to me.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my chest, his hand slipping down to stroke between my legs. I’m wet. I can hear his fingers slick through my desire, and I close my eyes, lightly banging the back of my head against the wall. Overcome already by his touch.
When he rises up and takes my mouth once more, his fingers still busy between my thighs, all I can do is let him stroke me, my knees threatening to buckle. He circles and rubs my clit, pleasure spiraling through me, and I know I’m close. I reach for his belt buckle, fumbling with it so badly, he bats my hand away and takes over. Undoes the belt, unzips his trousers and then I’m the one who’s slipping my hand into his pants, curling my fingers around his erection.
Next thing I know, I’m being lifted up, my legs going around his waist, his erection free and right where I need him the most. He slams into me so hard I lose my breath, his cock sliding in and out of my body while I cling to him, my mouth open against his neck, my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His hips piston against mine, his speed increasing with his every thrust, and I go completely still, already on the verge of an orgasm.
He knows just how to touch me—and where. My whimpers are an indication of what I want, where I want it, and he knows.
Already he understands my body and can give it exactly what I want.