Beautiful Stranger
Page 83
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“I’m sore in a really good way,” she said, rocking her hips against mine. “I want more.”
Any blood left in my brain evacuated and headed straight for my dick. “That is probably the best thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Sara pushed against my chest and I practically whimpered as she rolled me to my back. “Don’t go,” she said, moving on top of me. The sheet fell away and I gripped her torso, my thumbs brushing the undersides of her br**sts. She reached for my camera and held it up, looking down at me through the viewfinder. “I want to take pictures of your pretty face between my legs.”
“Jesus Christ, Sara,” I said, my head falling back against the pillows and my eyes closed tight. “And here I thought you were this little innocent little thing and I was the Great Corruptor.”
She burst into giggles and I just stared up at her.
“I love you,” I said, gripping the back of her neck and bringing her mouth to mine. My hand trailed down her side, naked and smooth and covered in goose bumps.
“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asked, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.
“We’re really doing this.”
“Officially.”
“A hundred percent. Dinners, dates, introducing you as my girlfriend. The whole thing.”
“Think I like the sound of that,” she said, her cheeks pink. She dragged her nails across my scalp and I melted, turning in to her touch. Not wanting to be anywhere but right here.
But . . .
The time on the clock near the bed reflected back at me. “Fuck. I really do have to go,” I said, closing my eyes.
“Okay.” I felt the heat of her lips against mine, not moving or doing anything in particular, just there, a chaste kiss made so much hotter by all the decidedly unchaste things we’d done only hours before.
I groaned, tugging my tie from my collar and tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. Pushing up on my knees, I looked down at her as I began to unbutton my shirt.
“But your flight,” she said, even as she reached for my belt. An evil grin spread slowly across her face.
“I’ll take the next one.”
After a mad dash through JFK—totally worth it—and another five hours in the air, I finally touched down in San Francisco. I’d only managed to get an hour or two of sleep the night before, and only a few minutes here and there on the plane, and was really starting to feel it.
I yawned and gathered my bag from the overhead compartment, stepping off the plane and heading out of the terminal and straight for the closest cup of coffee I could find.
It’d been reckless to blow off my flight just to get an extra hour with Sara; I knew that even as I was looking down at her, watching myself move in her. But I’d never felt anything even close to this before, and it was still a bit hard to wrap my head around everything we’d said.
A text from Will popped up as I waited for my caffeine.
Any new sexy pictures, you wild trendsetter?
Fuck off. You’d never have the balls to pull out a camera, I wrote back, then stuffed my phone in my bag. I’d call Will later about the meeting and update him on the Sara situation.
With a smile on my face and my drink finally in hand, I stepped away from the counter and took off the lid to add cream. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around.
“I think you dropped this.” A shorter man with thinning blond hair stood behind me, holding out a black leather wallet.
I shook my head. “Not mine, mate. Sorry.” I nodded toward security near the escalator to the luggage carousel. “Maybe try one of them.” I started to turn and he gripped my arm, stopping me.
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” I said with a shrug, taking out my own wallet and showing it to him. “Good luck finding the owner, though, yeah? Good man.”
He was already taking a step back and I watched as he walked quickly away, headed toward the baggage claim. Having already lost enough time today, I placed the lid back on my cup and bent to reach for my bag near my feet.
My heart stopped.
It was gone.
“What kind of bag was it again, sir?” A bored airport employee looked up at me from behind the counter. According to the tag pinned to her too-tight chambray shirt, her name was Elana June. She blew a bubble while she waited for me to respond.
I glanced up at the monitor suspended on the wall behind her, at the image of my own back flickering on the screen, certain I had to be on some sort of hidden camera show.
“Sir?” she said again, sounding, if possible, even more bored than before.
Any blood left in my brain evacuated and headed straight for my dick. “That is probably the best thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Sara pushed against my chest and I practically whimpered as she rolled me to my back. “Don’t go,” she said, moving on top of me. The sheet fell away and I gripped her torso, my thumbs brushing the undersides of her br**sts. She reached for my camera and held it up, looking down at me through the viewfinder. “I want to take pictures of your pretty face between my legs.”
“Jesus Christ, Sara,” I said, my head falling back against the pillows and my eyes closed tight. “And here I thought you were this little innocent little thing and I was the Great Corruptor.”
She burst into giggles and I just stared up at her.
“I love you,” I said, gripping the back of her neck and bringing her mouth to mine. My hand trailed down her side, naked and smooth and covered in goose bumps.
“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asked, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.
“We’re really doing this.”
“Officially.”
“A hundred percent. Dinners, dates, introducing you as my girlfriend. The whole thing.”
“Think I like the sound of that,” she said, her cheeks pink. She dragged her nails across my scalp and I melted, turning in to her touch. Not wanting to be anywhere but right here.
But . . .
The time on the clock near the bed reflected back at me. “Fuck. I really do have to go,” I said, closing my eyes.
“Okay.” I felt the heat of her lips against mine, not moving or doing anything in particular, just there, a chaste kiss made so much hotter by all the decidedly unchaste things we’d done only hours before.
I groaned, tugging my tie from my collar and tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. Pushing up on my knees, I looked down at her as I began to unbutton my shirt.
“But your flight,” she said, even as she reached for my belt. An evil grin spread slowly across her face.
“I’ll take the next one.”
After a mad dash through JFK—totally worth it—and another five hours in the air, I finally touched down in San Francisco. I’d only managed to get an hour or two of sleep the night before, and only a few minutes here and there on the plane, and was really starting to feel it.
I yawned and gathered my bag from the overhead compartment, stepping off the plane and heading out of the terminal and straight for the closest cup of coffee I could find.
It’d been reckless to blow off my flight just to get an extra hour with Sara; I knew that even as I was looking down at her, watching myself move in her. But I’d never felt anything even close to this before, and it was still a bit hard to wrap my head around everything we’d said.
A text from Will popped up as I waited for my caffeine.
Any new sexy pictures, you wild trendsetter?
Fuck off. You’d never have the balls to pull out a camera, I wrote back, then stuffed my phone in my bag. I’d call Will later about the meeting and update him on the Sara situation.
With a smile on my face and my drink finally in hand, I stepped away from the counter and took off the lid to add cream. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around.
“I think you dropped this.” A shorter man with thinning blond hair stood behind me, holding out a black leather wallet.
I shook my head. “Not mine, mate. Sorry.” I nodded toward security near the escalator to the luggage carousel. “Maybe try one of them.” I started to turn and he gripped my arm, stopping me.
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” I said with a shrug, taking out my own wallet and showing it to him. “Good luck finding the owner, though, yeah? Good man.”
He was already taking a step back and I watched as he walked quickly away, headed toward the baggage claim. Having already lost enough time today, I placed the lid back on my cup and bent to reach for my bag near my feet.
My heart stopped.
It was gone.
“What kind of bag was it again, sir?” A bored airport employee looked up at me from behind the counter. According to the tag pinned to her too-tight chambray shirt, her name was Elana June. She blew a bubble while she waited for me to respond.
I glanced up at the monitor suspended on the wall behind her, at the image of my own back flickering on the screen, certain I had to be on some sort of hidden camera show.
“Sir?” she said again, sounding, if possible, even more bored than before.
