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Authors: Eden Summers

Inarticulate (8 page)

BOOK: Inarticulate
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Chapter Eleven

W
ithin seconds Savannah
was on the phone, insuring reception gave Keenan a card to gain access to the elevator. They weren’t going to mess things up this time. They would see this through. There would be no interruptions from meddling cousins, no misunderstandings. She would have him. No words, no doubts, just no-strings, high-cardio sex that she could shove back in Spencer’s face.

“Oh, shit.”

Her heart rate increased from excitement to horror. She was naked under the robe, her face was probably a smudged mess of mascara and foundation, and she wasn’t even sure if her legs needed a decent shave.

“Oh, fuck.”

Breathe.
Relax
. She’d just bathed, her body parts should be prime frangipani goodness. But her hair… She ran to the hall mirror and the air left her lungs in relief at her reflection. Her mascara was tight, her cheeks flushed, and her hair pulled up in the butterfly clip had a messy, damsel in distress vibe going that didn’t look all that unappealing.

It would have to do. She wasn’t going to pull out the girlie card and leave him standing at the door so she had a few more minutes to impress him. Yeah, he was sexy. Yeah, he was mysterious as all hell. But she wasn’t going to hyperventilate over imperfection. Not any more than she already had.

She turned back to the room, skimming her vision over the perfectly made bed, the messy table with her laptop and notes scattered everywhere, and finally rested her glare on the disaster that was her suitcase.

A knock sounded on the door behind her, loud and authoritative. The noise ricocheted through the room, her chest, and settled in her heart.
Thump thump, thump thump
.

She padded down the short hall, an extra sway to her hips, and opened the door. She stood tall, barefoot, and surrounded in fluffy, white material, while he held an air of cool, calm, and collected. His hands were in his pockets, short wisps of his hair falling over his forehead as he peered up under his thick lashes at her.

“Hi.” She tried to clear the arousal from her throat. Tried and failed. His eyes were intense. Dark silver depths holding her against her will.

“I…um…”

He raised a lazy finger to his mouth, demanding silence in the simplest of actions. He stalked forward, once, twice, and even though she didn’t want to retreat, the pure confidence ebbing off him had her sliding from reach. His presence frightened her. It also invigorated. The mere sight of him placed her on a roller coaster rife with sharp bends and terrifying dips.

She’d never been nervous around men, yet Keenan wasn’t merely a man. He was above and beyond. He was one in a million, someone unique and fascinating.

The door drifted shut as he continued to stalk her into the middle of the room, the bed to her right, the television to her left. She was running out of space. Running out of oxygen.

She planted her feet, raised her chin, and swallowed over the palpable chemistry flittering through the air between them. He stopped, too, mere inches from her. His gaze raked her body like a feather, deliciously soft, gliding over her skin, lingering on places she wanted him to touch. To taste.

His hand rose, the calloused palm moving to cup her cheek and steal her breath. There had never been a moment in her life when she’d wanted to be controlled. Not at work. Not in previous relationships. But in this moment, every part of her ached for his mastery. She wanted to be commanded by his eyes alone. To be manipulated by the strength in his grip and the fierceness in his expression. She didn’t need his endearments or his compliments. She didn’t need words at all.

He glided his fingers to the back of her hair and released the clip. Strands fell to her shoulders and tickled her neck as he placed the hair piece on the television stand, his focus never leaving her.

She had no power to look away. No strength. She was at his mercy.

Willingly.

Wholeheartedly.

He cherished every part of her face with his scrutiny, taking in her appearance like she was a puzzle he wanted to not only complete, but immortalize. With each breath he inched closer—his legs, his chest, his lips.

Time quickened with the rapid pulse of blood in her ears, and the outside world ceased to exist. There was no Rydel or Grandiosity. No Penny or Dominic. There was only Keenan and the chilling, steel eyes she would never forget.

The heat of his exhalations brushed her lips. It was an excruciating tease, a caress of awareness that lasted a lifetime before his mouth descended, taking hers in a kiss so gentle and soft she whimpered in sensation overload.

She closed her eyes at his expertise and placed her palms inside the opening of his jacket to rest on the hard planes of his chest. He parted her lips with his tongue, deepening the connection, manipulating her emotions. They were one, their bodies fused with anticipation, their mouths molded in passion.

It was just a kiss, not unlike any other in physical form, yet everything inside her was different. Her heart was rampant, her lips tingled.

She wanted more.

She
needed
more.

There would never be enough.

His fingers continued to hold her, his grip tightening in her hair. The palm of his free hand came to rest on her waist and slowly descended. She could feel the trail it made as if he were burning her beneath the robe. From her hip, then slowly to her ass. He palmed her flesh in his grasp and ground into her, making her moan at the distinct hardness of his erection at her abdomen.

She’d never desired a man so much it hurt. But there was pain now, an ache low in her belly she couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t mere arousal or the hunger of a starved libido. It was emotional and physical. She just didn’t understand why or how. Keenan had her wrapped around his finger and it hadn’t even taken a syllable.

He pulled back and left her gasping for air. Her arms fell to her sides and her heart fell with them. He stared back at her, his smile nowhere to be seen. There was no warmth in his features. Only ferocity. Pure lust.

She didn’t want to break the silence. Her mouth wouldn’t work even if she wanted it to. If he couldn’t speak, neither would she, but the pressure to fill the void irked her. She never knew how much she relied on words to self-soothe until she met Keenan. They eased discomfort and dissolved nerves.

Now there was only instinct and intuition.

He held her focus as he shucked his jacket and threw it on the end of the bed. She wasn’t going to swallow. Nope. No matter how dry her throat or how wet her pussy, she refused to give him any more power. He already had enough. She was weak—her knees, her arms, her restraint.

Her fingers twitched, wishing he would hurry as he grasped the top of his shirt and manipulated the first button through the hole. One by one, he exposed more skin to her periphery, yet she fought not to break his gaze. He was the first to look at her with such raw savagery; he could very well be the last. Each second of the connection was like a drug she wished to save for later. She was hoarding his passion, memorizing it, storing it in a safe place at the back of her mind to bring out whenever the need arose.

Her palms itched to touch him, and instead of listening to the meek voice inside telling her to be careful, she reached out and made contact. Her skin collided with muscle and the fine dusting of coarse hair on his pecs and still, their eyes danced.

She couldn’t stop looking at him.

Wouldn’t stop.

Refused.

She slid her hands higher and guided the shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, to his wrists and let it drop to the floor. Swallow after swallow, she tried to soothe the dryness of her throat, but nothing in her body wanted to comply with her demands. Everything inside her was attuned to his frequency.

He grabbed her hips and a breath shuddered from her lips as he guided her backward to sit on the small desk. Large hands gripped the tie of her robe, the soft tug, tug, tug of the knot coming undone, along with her control. Her heart was fluttering in her throat. Her stomach had become an Olympic rhythmic gymnast.

Would she hold enough appeal to satisfy his desire? Would she be enough?

The forefront of her mind told her his opinion didn’t matter. He could love her body or strut his sexy ass to the door. But in the back of her thoughts was a constant drone of unease. A man this alluring, this intoxicating, wouldn’t be affected by mediocrity.

She wanted to impress him. To make his eyes narrow in lust or widen in appreciation. She needed that hit of undiluted emotion that washed away the need for words. She needed to see the fascination he couldn’t announce and feel the praise in his touch.

The front of the material separated, the trim settling on the inside of her breasts. She remained still as Keenan stole his focus from her eyes and tracked his full attention down her body. Her skin tingled under his scrutiny, from her lips to her throat, her sternum to her stomach, all the way to the trimmed patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

His nostrils flared. His fingers twitched at his sides. She sucked in a breath, deep and empowering. Her nervousness vanished. How could she hold on to doubt when he looked at her with such hunger? With one look,
that
look, he transformed her into a supermodel. She was flawless beneath his appraisal.

She gripped the edge of the desk, her movements spreading the material further, and let him look his fill.

His attention backtracked, from her pussy, to her belly button, her sternum. Every inch made her heart rate increase.

He met her gaze, briefly, so briefly, before he decimated the space between them in one step and took her mouth with his own. She didn’t have time to think, to gasp. He was all over her, one arm sliding around her naked waist, his other hand circling the back of her neck.

This kiss was the evil twin to its predecessor.
This
kiss was rough and punishing, vicious and feral. Their tongues clashed in harsh strokes, their teeth clinked. She scrambled for his shoulders and tugged him as she dug her fingers into his skin.

He growled, a deep rumble of sound that emanated from his throat. It was beyond sexy. It was animalistic. Hedonistic.

It made her stop. Think. Reevaluate.

“You can growl?” She pushed at his chest, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the heady vibration. She’d heard that sound from him before, but she couldn’t ignore it now. It was too wondrous.

“That was sexy as hell.” She was panting, trying to calm her breathing when he seemed to be entirely under control.

His gaze became guarded. His pleasure fading.

“I mean it.”

He ignored the compliment like it was a thinly veiled criticism and leaned into her, this time taking his lips to her neck. She had no time to ponder. He nipped along her carotid and gifted her with his sound again. The deep rumble sank into her chest and made every rib tingle. She arched her neck and fought for control.

She couldn’t wait to have more of him. The thought wasn’t whimsy or wishful thinking. She
could not
wait to have more of him. It was an impossibility.

“I’m done with waiting,” she whispered and cascaded her hands from his shoulders, down his chest, over his muscled stomach, to the waistband of his jeans.

He pulled back and met her gaze, silently giving her permission to go further.

“You’re just going to watch?”

He didn’t move, didn’t even change his expression. All she received was a lazy blink of those gunmetal eyes.

“Fine. Be a spectator. I’ll unwrap my present by myself.”

She lowered her attention to his waistband as his chest convulsed with laughter. Starving her,
tormenting
her, wasn’t nice. He’d soon learn from his mistakes.

The clink of his belt mingled with the sound of labored breathing. She undid the button at the top of his jeans, lowered the zipper, and froze.

“Holy…” He didn’t wear underwear. At least not today. The bulge he’d been hiding stood proud, staring at her. Her throat dried to the point of pain. Her desire for him grew uncontrollable. It had to be pheromones or poor air ventilation.

Something.

Anything.

The delirious need wasn’t normal. Not for her.

She tugged his pants in a frantic rush, her robe gaping before him, and left his waistband to stand in the middle of his muscled thighs. There wasn’t a hair, freckle or scar on this man that wasn’t perfectly situated. He was flawless. A picture of masculine perfection.

If only he could…

She shook away the selfish thought and peered up at him. His eyes were dark and full of male pride as he leaned to the side and grabbed a condom from his lowered pocket. He didn’t readjust his pants, didn’t even move them an inch from where she left them. He kept himself on display, his cock standing proud, the thick veins pulsing along his shaft.

He sheathed himself with an unshaking grip. She knew he was watching her, seeing her fascination and desire, and still she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his hands and the way he worked his length.

The men she’d slept with had never been so blatant. They didn’t protest if she was in a frumpy mood and asked for the lights to be switched off. They weren’t proud of their bodies like Keenan was confident with his. This man made sex seem like a natural progression for two strangers. There was no shame or trepidation. It was logical. Even essential.

She bit her lip at the unfamiliar reassurance and felt her pussy clench, preparing itself for the necessary stretch of muscles needed to accommodate him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyed the bed, then looked back at her in question.

No.
She shook her head. She wanted him here, on the desk, with her fingers in his hair and his hands palming her ass.

He inched closer, his legs pressing into hers, and nudged her thighs apart with his knee. His steely focus peered down at her as his rough hands gripped her hips and lifted, placing the curve of her bottom on the flimsy wood.

He was close, his cock almost brushing her entrance, when his palm came to land on her sternum. He seared her, branding her flesh as he trailed his touch through her cleavage, to one shoulder, then the other, pushing her robe off.

BOOK: Inarticulate
3.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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