Our tongues caress.

Our bodies collide.

The spark is there, igniting my hands on him, his on me.

The car comes to a stop. Pierce groans, reluctantly breaking away. I miss his warmth. “We’re here,” the driver announces.

I rub my fingertip around my mouth, checking my lipstick. Pierce helps the cause, smoothing down my skirt and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Where’s the traffic when you need it?” he grumbles under his breath.

The driver startles us by opening the door. Pierce begrudgingly he climbs out, holding his hand out to me. The cool air feels good against my flushed skin as I step onto the sidewalk, but the warm tingle between my legs doesn’t go unnoticed. The thought of asking to take a few more laps around the block crosses my mind. That thought rings louder when I notice the impressive bulge that tugs at his zipper. I imagine what he’d be like in bed—a true gentleman with immeasurable confidence. I imagine his lips on every inch of my body . . . the pleasure he’d give me.

Those thoughts melt away as he tucks me under his arm, quickly ushering us through the lobby to the elevators. We wait quietly for the doors to open, his arm never leaving me.

When it finally dings, we step inside, alone again. His lips descend on mine—hungry, wanting. My back is pushed against the wall, his hips grinding against mine. I wish this were the movies . . . that the elevator would suddenly stop so we could finish what we started.

We reach our floor far too soon. Our hands stop their exploration when the door opens, but our bodies remain glued together, neither of us wanting to make the first move out of the elevator.

“Come to my room,” he pants, eyes reading mine.

I hesitate, my chest heaving against his. He leans in, kissing me again. It’s a plea—one I’m having a hard time denying with his warm body against mine. Blake’s needing eyes flash through my mind like a burst of lightning, but I let the vision fade. Pierce is here, not pushing me away. No games. He even cared enough to take me out, which is something Blake never did.

I wrap my arms around his neck, washing away any doubts. He practically carries me to his door, only letting go to take out his key card.

He sets me down, carefully slipping the jacket from my shoulders. The slow caress of his fingers against my skin makes the simple move seductive. I’m ready to feel his hands on me . . . everywhere.

He leaves me standing alone while he loosens his tie from around his neck and tosses it on the dresser. His eyes roam over my body as he kicks off his shoes. His stare holds me, and even though I’m fully clothed, I feel naked. To escape it, I build a wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Arms down,” he commands.

I shift on my feet, searching for the confidence I’m not sure I’ve ever had. Especially with his dark, piercing eyes on me.

He strides toward me. I take it as a warning, letting my arms fall to my side.

Maybe I’m here for all the wrong reasons—too much wine, a heightened need to feel wanted. I couldn’t have picked a better man to rebound with. Not that I can really call it that; I’m rebounding from my rebound. I don’t know a whole lot about Pierce, but I trust him not to hurt me, not to use me for his own selfish needs and discard me like I’m nothing. I don’t want to feel that way again.

I want what every woman wants . . . to feel wanted.

Pierce slides his fingers along my collarbone then between my covered breasts. He moves slowly, calculating my reaction to every touch. He’s an expert at everything he does.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not, I need to know now,” he whispers against my ear. I had a lot to drink, but I’m present in the moment. I want him, to know what he can do to me.

I answer without words, running my hand along his hard length. He groans, sliding his hands around my back to work my zipper down. The dress slips with his fingers, leaving me standing in nothing but green satin bra and panties.

He steps back to get a better look. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

I watch him under the moonlight that illuminates the room. It’s sexually exhilarating—the way his eyes stay on mine. The way they communicate his desire and desperation.

“Turn around,” he instructs as he unfastens the buttons on his dress shirt.

I want to question him, but I know better. Instead, I turn so my back is to him, oblivious to what’s going on behind me.

“Jesus,” he growls. I hear shuffling behind me but don’t chance a look. The anticipation leaves me wet. Maybe this is part of his game—to cause an ache so intense I want to beg for him.

I hear his footsteps on the marble floors. I inhale a sharp breath when his hands cover my hips, sliding under the curve of my ass. On instinct, my head falls back against his shoulder, allowing me to sink into him. To give him the control I know he craves.

He kisses the side of my neck while his hands splay against my stomach. “Lila,” he murmurs against my skin. “Do you know all the things I want to do to you?”

His fingers slip into the front of my panties. I moan, rocking my head back. His actual touch is so much better than the anticipation.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me where you need me,” he demands, teasing me by sliding his fingers a little lower.

“Touch me,” I beg, wiggling against his palm.

“I think I’m already doing that. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

He’s so in control, and I’m so out of it. I grip his wrist, placing his hand lower, exactly where I need it. He takes the hint, curling his finger into me. “Feel what I do to you.”

I whimper, wanting more. Fast, slow . . . I don’t care. He uses his body pressed against mine to move us forward to his bed. It’s the first time I panic, or maybe the wine is starting to wear off. When my knees touch the bed, the thoughts of the two other men I’ve been with flood my mind. It shouldn’t be this hard, but I just got over one, and then Blake . . . I still think about him all the time.

Closing my eyes, I push all those thoughts away, bringing myself back to the moment. Pierce isn’t Derek, and he’s definitely not Blake. I press my lips together to keep myself from stopping him.

He craves me.

If I let him have what he wants, maybe he’ll make me crave him too.

Before I get a chance to crawl on top of the bed, he unclasps my bra, letting it fall to the floor. His hands come around, rolling my nipples between his fingertips. I’m wound tightly, the pressure between my legs increasing.

“I have rules,” he says, still teasing my sensitive skin. “I don’t come until you come. Your eyes stay on me while I fuck you. And . . . you sleep naked in my bed when we’re done. That is, if we ever finish.”

I swallow, gripping the high thread count sheets between my fingers. “I only have one rule.”

His fingers still. “What’s that?”

“Don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

His hands slide down the curve of my back then curl around my hips. “I couldn’t,” he answers, pressing his lips to the center of my spine. His voice is smooth and comforting. I wish I could wrap my arms around it and hold it tight.

Without warning, he flips me on my back. He slowly stands back up, holding me to him with his eyes. I watch as his shirt falls to the floor first followed by his suit pants. My gaze falls to his muscular chest before going further to his defined, narrow abs.

“Are you staring?”

“Maybe,” I answer, squirming under the weight of his eyes.

He ups his game, slipping his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and slowly inching them down his thighs. He’s magnificent . . . there’s no other way to put it. Watching him is making my stomach twist into knots. I wonder how many women he’s had before me, and how I even compare.

“I see you thinking. Stop thinking.” He kneels in front of me, hooking his fingers in the side of my panties to slide them off.