Walk of Shame
Page 38

My lips part to tell him to prove it, but he’s one step ahead of me, and the only thing that comes out is a surprised gasp as he guides me backward before easily hoisting me onto the kitchen counter.
He sets his mouth against my throat and my head falls to the side.
“I didn’t ask,” he says, planting warm kisses along my neck. “How are you feeling?”
“Right now? Never been better,” I whisper, pulling his mouth back to mine.
Andrew slips his hands under my sweater as we kiss, his palms roaming over my back, warm skin on warm skin. His breath shudders just a little, and I smile against his mouth, loving all these little chinks I’m finding in Andrew Mulroney’s armor.
He pulls back, raising his eyebrows in challenge at my amusement. He holds my gaze as his hands slide around to my front, fingers tracing the outer slope of my breasts lightly before withdrawing contact.
I whimper, and he watches me knowingly as he takes his time returning his hands to me. Then his thumbs are hovering over my nipples, a torturous non-touch that has me arching my back with a helpless plea.
There’s nothing stodgy about the way he teases me, cupping my breasts in his palms before pulling back to pluck at the sensitive tips.
I wiggle closer, tugging frantically at my bulky sweater, sighing in relief as he helps me lift it over my head and toss it aside.
The look on his face when he sees my bare chest is flattering, but I like even better the greedy way his mouth goes to my breasts. His tongue flicks across a nipple before drawing it warmly into his mouth, hungry for me.
But I’m hungry for him too, and I endure the sweet ecstasy for only a minute before my legs wrap around his waist, my hands tearing at the buttons of his shirt.
I hate that he put this on for Hailey, hate that he was thinking of spending tonight with anyone but me, and I make him pay for it. My nails rake his skin as I take in the upper body that’s every bit as impressive as I expected it to be given his gym-rat habits.
“Not bad, lawyer,” I say, my fingers touching every perfect ridge of his six-pack. His eyes close as I explore his skin, his breath hitching in and out with need, and though I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a sexual encounter as badly as I want this one, I’m struck with an unprecedented wave of tenderness.
I lean forward and set my mouth on the warm hollow at the base of his throat, a gentle kiss that conveys things I don’t know how to say any other way.
I feel his palm against my face, his fingers brushing the hair at my temple in an answering caress.
His lips find mine, and our eager hands explore downward. I’m wearing yoga pants, so he’s got the advantage, easily pulling them down over my legs before I have a chance to undo his belt buckle.
Lucky for me, he’s feeling helpful, and moments later we’re down to the last barrier: my thong, his black briefs. (Of course he would be a briefs guy, and it’s hot.)
I lick my lips as I trail my fingers over the impressive length of his erection. His eyes narrow, his breathing harsh and uneven as he flicks a finger over the pink bow at the top of my black lace panties, his gaze dropping to follow the back-and-forth motion of his finger.
“A bow,” he whispers. “How perfectly ridiculous.”
Then his fingers are slipping beneath the elastic, pulling my underwear to the side as he bends down, lowering his head and tasting me.
I cry out in surprise at his unexpected boldness, my hands dropping to his head, fingers in his hair at the gentle but confident swipe of his tongue.
He presses even closer, the flat of his tongue licking me in unapologetically carnal strokes as his hands spread my legs wide.
I don’t know what I’m feeling—something like ecstasy and torture and maybe a little bit of shock about how wrong I am about Andrew Mulroney.
The man whose head moves insistently between my legs is nothing like the buttoned-up lawyer who has spent the past few months ignoring me. This man is raw and primal, his touch sure and possessive, as though every part of me is his and he’s always known it.
I’m desperate now, my fingers clutching at his hair, wanting, needing everything that he’s offering.
A long finger eases inside me as his tongue begins circling in perfect rhythm to my every cry.
A second finger joins the first, the pressure of his tongue increasing, quickening, and I shatter like crystal in his mouth, the pleasure so savagely intense I’m not entirely sure how to survive it alone.
Except I’m not alone.
It’s like he knows the exact moment I’m too sensitive to take any more, and he straightens, drawing me to him, holding my face against his shoulder, stroking my back through the rest of the tremors, letting me catch my breath.
When I finally come back to reality, he presses his lips to my ear. “Stodgy, huh?”
I laugh, a short, exhausted sound. “I may have been wrong about that.”
“Perhaps I should convince you once and for all.”
His hands go to my waist, tugging me forward, supporting me as he pulls me off the counter, lowering me to my feet.
I start to move to the right, thinking he means for us to go to the bedroom, but his fingers close around my wrist, lifting my hand to his face.
The kiss on my palm is gentle, but the way he spins me around, pressing my belly against the kitchen counter, is anything but.
I gasp at the feel of cold marble on warm skin, but the contrast is unexpectedly arousing, as is the way he shoves my underwear down until it’s in a tiny pile at my feet.
I kick the fabric aside and then gasp in delighted pleasure as I feel the undisguised evidence of his arousal against me.
Andrew’s hand moves to the right side of my face, gathering my hair in one hand and pushing it over my left shoulder.
He presses a kiss to the nape of my neck. “Do I need a condom?”
I tilt my hips back in invitation to hurry the hell up. “Birth control and religious about my doctor’s appointments. And I’m going to guess that’s just one more thing you’re anal about.”
“Well then, Georgiana,” he says huskily as his hands find mine, flattening my palms to the edge of the counter and pushing me forward slightly, “better hold on.”
I catch my breath, wanting—needing—the thrust. Instead I feel the velvety tip of him, teasing among the wet folds. Making me wait. Making us both wait.
Then his hips rock forward and I cry out, my body welcoming the hard invasion like it’s meant for this, meant for him.