“Me touching you.” I skim my hand up, from her hip to her waist to her rib cage, stopping there. “You touching me. Go on, try it.”
She slips her hand beneath my suit jacket to settle it on my ribs, her fingertips burning through the thin fabric of my shirt. “You’re warm.”
“So are you.” I let go of her chin to curl my hand around the side of her neck. “You’re wearing the earrings I gave you.”
She nods, reaching up to touch one, her fingers skimming the edge. “I love them.”
My earlier thoughts return and I decide to be truthful. “You know what I want to see?”
Charlotte shakes her head slowly. “What?”
“You wearing those earrings I gave you.” I lean in close, my mouth right at her ear. “And nothing else.”
I pull away slightly as a shuddery breath escapes her and she swallows hard, her gaze never leaving mine. She’s always so agreeable, allowing people to tell her what to do.
But just how obedient is she?
“You know what I want to see?” she asks.
My brows draw together and I brace my hand on the wall next to her head. “What?”
“All of your tattoos.” She grabs hold of my tie, tugging on it and I drop my head, my mouth landing on hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world, kissing her.
Devouring her.
I remove my hand from the wall to grip the back of her head, my fingers curling around her low ponytail, holding her in place as I drink from her lips. I search her sweet mouth with my tongue, stroking it against hers, and a low, agonized sound ripples through the air.
It’s me. I’m the one who’s groaning. Just from the taste of her lips. Her fingers curled into my tie, tugging on it. As if she wants more of what only I can give her.
This is probably a mistake, but fuck it. My entire life has consisted of me being guided by my family, telling me what to do. Hell, the only reason I’m marrying Charlotte is because of them.
But they’re not controlling this night. This moment.
For once, I’m going to do what I want. Like when I raced cars and took a risk. Putting myself—and others—in danger. One wrong move and it’s over.
That’s what this feels like with Charlotte. Out of control. Reckless. I want it.
I want her.
I press closer, my hips nudging hers, her body flattening against the wall behind her. I return my hand on her hip, squeezing her there, crushing those delicate pink petals beneath my grip.
“Perry.” The sound of my name falling from her lips does something to me. Urges me on, filling me with borderline desperation. I remove my hand from the back of her head and grab her behind her thighs, lifting her. Those long, sexy legs automatically wrap around my hips, the skirt of her dress riding up, exposing her slender thighs.
I want to touch. To look. I don’t know where to start first. Removing my mouth from hers, I back away a little, glancing down. The way her ass rests against the front of my trousers, her legs loosely linked around my hips, her sharp heels brushing against my ass.
Fuck, it’s too much. Not enough.
“Let’s go look at the view,” I tell her, my voice gruff, my thoughts chaotic.
She frowns, disappointment etched all over her pretty face. “But…”
“Come on.” I ease her to her feet and grab her hand, walking her over to the wall of windows that overlook the city.
She follows diligently, her breathing erratic, and we stop in the center of the windows, staring out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan spread out before us.
“There it is,” she murmurs. “Beautiful, right?”
I gaze at her, drinking her in. The gloss is completely gone from her lips and there’s high color in her cheeks. My hands in her hair have messed it up completely, and she’s fucking stunning. “Yes. Definitely.”