What the hell. I slant toward him a little, enough that I can smell his spicy cologne, or maybe it's aftershave. Either way, the scent makes me want to lick him from head to toe. "Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf, zwölf."
"Sayzwölfagain. I love the way you pronounce it."
He loves my pronunciation? I really hope he isn't making fun of me.
The sexy Brit leans in to brush hair away from my face, his fingers grazing my skin. "Say it again, please."
I grin. "See, you are polite."
"For the moment." He trails his fingertips down my cheek to the corner of my mouth. "Sayzwölfagain, and I'll kiss you."
"What if I don't want to kiss you?"
He drags one finger across my mouth, slowly, sensuously. "You do."
Yeah, okay, I do. My fling idea sounds better and better every second.
I lick his finger and say, "Zwölf."
He slides his hand into my hair, pulls my face closer, and kisses me.
Oh God, his lips. They're soft and warm, and taste faintly of caramel. Maybe he had a decadent dessert a few minutes ago. I don't care, because all I want is for his lips to tease mine for the rest of eternity. His breaths tickle my skin, and my nipples go hard. When he slips his tongue between my lips, I melt. I'm floating on a warm, silken cloud of desire, my body pure liquid and the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a puddle at his feet is his mouth.
He pulls away, but only a few inches. "Come to my room with me."
"What?" Sure, it's exactly what I wanted, but my brain can't quite catch up to his words.
"Come with me, upstairs, to my room." He catches my bottom lip with his teeth, swipes his tongue over it, and releases my flesh with a slowness that makes me ache in all the best ways. "You're the most adorable creature I've ever seen, and I want to make love to you all night long."
"Oh God, yes." Did I say that out loud?Ugh, Elena, stop doing that. "Let's go to your room."
"Do you want to finish your drink first?"
I glance sideways at the untouched margarita. Suddenly, my scorching Brit sounds like a much better cocktail than the drink I ordered. "No, I'm done with it."
He slings an arm around my waist as I ooze off my stool, slinging my too-big purse over my shoulder. We walk across the lobby to the elevator with me hugged to his hard body and his hand on my hip.
The elevator doors open. Three people hurry out, leaving the car empty.
My Brit and I get in, and the doors glide shut.
He turns toward me, still hugging me to him, and I suddenly find myself plastered to the hottest body I've ever seen---and the stiffest hard-on I've ever felt.
"Can't wait," he almost growls. "I'm on the nineteenth floor, which means we have time."
"Time for what?"
He backs me up to the wall and crushes his mouth to mine. His tongue thrusts deep, making me moan and latch my arms around his neck. I'm helpless to resist his hungry swipes, helpless to do anything except let him ravage me and mash me to the wall with every inch of his delicious body. I moan again, rougher, needier.
And he shoves my skirt up.
I gasp, but then grin like an idiot. My purse slides off my shoulder, thumping on the floor.
He tears my panties off, his expression tight with need and a craving so intense it seems to bleed into me, making me slicker and hotter and achier. He unzips his slacks while he seals his mouth over my nipple, soaking my blouse and bra, and suckles the tip. My back arches. I clutch his head to my chest, loving the softness of his hair and the sharp sting of his teeth scraping my hard peak.
I barely notice when the sound of foil ripping fills the elevator.
My Brit pulls away only long enough to sheath himself with a condom, then he hoists one of my legs and thrusts into me.