“It will work for you. Let me teach you, Amy.”

Teach me. This is what he’d been talking about on the plane and this is so far into new territory, I don’t know which direction to go. I crave what he will show me but I fear what I will show him.

“Do you have things you need to block out, Liam?” I ask, and I am on tenterhooks, waiting on an answer that feels important to me, when I do not even know what I expect—or want—it to be.

“Yeah, baby,” he surprises me by saying, “I do. Knowing you need the escape and admitting it, if only to yourself, is control.” I am shocked by his admission, by his willingness to share something so personal with me. I am beyond aroused by this man and when his finger traces the skin at the top of my blouse, I feel the touch in every part of my body. “I did.” He starts unbuttoning my blouse. “And now I’m going to show you how we escape together.”

Together. I like how that sounds, but…

“Right here in the hallway?” I ask, and my blouse begins to gape, exposing the thin lace covering my br**sts.

“Right here in the hallway,” he agrees, his hot gaze raking the swell of my br**sts, his deft fingers finishing the buttons and quickly popping open the front clasp of my bra. He covers my br**sts with his hands, and nuzzles my neck at the same time, and the mix of erotic and tender ignites my senses and soothes my nerves. “You smell like sunflowers.”

“My perfume,” I whisper, and unbidden, my mind my goes to New York, to my apartment where it, and everything else I own, and no longer have, are located.

“It’s perfect,” he approves, tugging my ni**les, and the unexpected, bittersweet ache leaves room for none of the burn for what is behind me. There is only the burn for now, for him, for the escape he has promised me. My lashes flutter and just that quickly he is on his knees, inching my skirt upward, and there is only the emptiness that is my ache to feel him inside me. I am in a haze of desire, and my skirt is somehow at my waist, his tongue tracing the top of one of my thigh-highs, then traveling up and down my leg. The urge to tug my hands free, to tunnel my finger into his thick, dark hair, and force his mouth where I want it, is almost too much to bear.

“I want to touch you,” I pant. “I need to touch you.”

His eyes meet mine, and they are hot with desire and dark with command. “Not yet,” he orders, and with no warning, he wraps his fingers around the thin strips at my h*ps and tugs my panties down to my feet. I step out of them. Or I think I do. I don’t know. Everything is a haze of nerves, and desire, and need. But they are gone and Liam’s fingers are exploring the slick, wet center of my body, and his mouth is on my upper thigh, teasing me with where it might go, where it hasn’t gone and I soon hope it will be.

He slips two fingers deep inside me and there are panting, moaning sounds filling the air that I barely recognize as coming from me, and I try to control myself, but I cannot. I’m not sure I’m really trying. I am so wet and so aroused, I am certain I will come ridiculously quickly. The idea is embarrassing and I try to will my body to calm. I try to resist the pleasure building low in my belly and spiraling into my sex, but it is growing, consuming me like a black hole where nothing but pleasure exists. It reaches out to me and drags me deep into the center of spiraling, delicious sensations. They overcome me, he overcomes me, and my sex clenches so intensely that I jerk and my knees go weak.

Liam’s arms wrap around my lower body, holding me up and his tongue laps at me, fast and hard and then slowing as I soften, as my muscles ease, and I relax. He tears my jacket from my wrists and I wrap my arms around him for stability and bury my face in his neck. He drags me with him, until he is sitting against the door and I am straddling him and all I can think is how embarrassed I am. How long did I last? One minute? Two? Please let it have been at least five.

“Amy,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

“No. I can’t.”

“You can,” he says firmly, and his hand goes to my head, tilting my face to his. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

Now I’m embarrassed that I am embarrassed. “I can’t help it.” My voice shakes. I’m not sure it’s just my voice. I have never felt this exposed. Not since…not ever. Not like this. “I was—”

“Beautiful.” His hand moves to cup my cheek. “Absolutely beautiful and sexy.”

My hand covers his. “No.” I laugh and it’s a choked, horrible sound. “I was fast. Really embarrassingly fast.”

“I like that I can turn you on that easily.” He caresses my shirt and bra from my shoulders, and I let them fall away and my mind is mush all over again. And when he leans in and tenderly kisses my shoulder, his hot stare raking over my na**d torso, my br**sts are instantly heavy, and my ni**les tight. “And I like,” he adds, his eyes lifting to mine, “that you like it when I look at you.” His finger lightly teases my nipple and a shiver of pure pleasure slides down my back. His lips curve. “And that you react when I touch you.”

A pinching sensation begins to form in my chest. I’m overwhelmed emotionally when I should simply be aroused and nothing more. I barely know this man and somehow he digs deep into my soul and speaks to me like no one else ever has. It’s today’s events. It’s not him.

I cut my gaze, trying to pull myself together, but he does not allow me an escape, not one he has not created, or offered in perfect orgasmic pleasure. His finger slides under my chin, tilts it up, forcing my eyes back to his. “Don’t hide what you feel. See, baby, that’s the thing about f**king properly, it’s raw and honest. There’s no time limit, or embarrassment, or nerves, which should exist. It’s just us f**king. Us feeling. Us being us together. We leave everything else at the door.” He smiles a sexy, easy smile and his hands slide up my back, his forehead resting against mine. “Well. In our case, on the other side of the door. Don’t ever be embarrassed with me.”

Lisa Renee Jones Books | Romance Books | The Secret Life of Amy Bensen Series Books
Source: www.StudyNovels.com