Page 10 of A Dark Fall
As I look back up at his eyes, I decide it feels surreal being here, in this place, with him. People say that all the time. It’s a completely overused term. But this is surreal.Not only seeing him but knowing that he wants me here. That he thinks I look beautiful. That he orchestrated this so he could see me. Did I not daydream about this exact thing?
It all makes me feel slightly giddy and light-headed, and it’s only partially from the champagne. I try to focus on something real, fixed, to anchor myself back to reality: the TV on the wall, the champagne bucket, the desk. It’s pointless though, because as soon as I glance at him, I’m dizzy again. Distracted by his eyes and his smell and the way his mouth moves when he says my name. In contrast, he appears totally calm and utterly at ease. I’m normally an at-ease person. Calm, analytical, thoughtful. I’ve been called these things often enough, and I believe them.
“Did you visit a hospital?” I ask in the most professional tone I can muster.
He gives me a guilty look as he sips his drink. “I told you, I really don’t like doctors.” When he smiles, he shows me a flash of sharp tooth, and my womb clenches anew. “How do I look to you? Good, or ...?” He smirks.
I swallow. “You should have visited the hospital. They’re far better equipped to deal with a stab wound ...” I say, ignoring his question. I lift my glass to take a sip of the cold, fizzy champagne. It’s sweet, wet, and welcome on my dry, nervous tongue.
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind, Doctor.” His eyes continue to assess me, glittering serious pools of blue-green. He looks as if he’s in a focused kind of trance, as though wherever he is I’m with him, and it’s only us there.
Suddenly, something occurs to me. “I don’t even know your name,” I say as I take another sip of champagne. “Though, you know mine and where I work. Seems a touch unfair, don’t you think?” Okay, so I’ll admit, I may potentially be flirting with him—but in my defense, I’m giddy and perky, and he thinks I look beautiful in this dress. While he isn’t my type, he is extremely attractive, and I’m very, very single.
He blinks as though until I mentioned it, it didn’t even occur to him. He takes another sip of his champagne and sets his glass down on the desk, then he stretches his hand out toward me. It hovers mid-air for a second before I reach out to take it. It’s hot, soft, and large.
“Jake Lawrence,” he says. There’s an authority to it. Jake Lawrence. I repeat it over internally a few times as I decide whether it suits him. It does. It’s a name for an extremely attractive, slightly dangerous man. I have a feeling it’s not a name I’m likely to forget anytime soon.
He doesn’t shake my hand; he just holds it in his. Then, softly, he grazes his thumb slowly over it. It sends a shiver down my spine. It feels almost sensual somehow. I realize if I consider the way he is holding my hand to be sensual, I’m even more single than I think.
It’s not oral sex, Alex.
Oh, dear god, why did I have to think that? Now I’m thinking about oral sex, and his mouth, and oh my god ...
When I glance at his mouth, I worry he can read my mind because he gives a slow, measured smile before licking his delectable bottom lip and biting it softly. Teasingly.
“Alex Marlowe,” I answer, barely recognizing my own voice. It sounds girlish and breathless. It sounds ridiculous. “But then you knew that already, didn’t you, Jake Lawrence?” I raise an eyebrow. Better. Stronger. Faintly sarcastic too. Well done, me.
He takes another step toward me, into the space between our bodies—so close now that I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. When he looks down at my mouth, I know he’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me, and I’ve never been so nervous about being kissed before.
“I like hearing you say my name, Alex,” he says as he licks his lips again. “I could get used to hearing my name come out of your mouth.” His accent sounds more pronounced now, rougher in its lower decibels. As I wonder where he grew up, he moves forward and kisses me, swiping every other thought from my head.
His mouth is gentle at first, teasing mine open, but when I begin to respond he becomes more forceful, hungry. His hot mouth and tongue become increasingly possessive as he begins to stroke, suck, lick, and taste. I taste spice and heat. Mingled with the expensive champagne, it’s delicious.
Oh, god, he can kiss.
I knew he’d be able to kiss. To not be able to kiss with that mouth would be a travesty.
He moves his whole warm, muscular body into me, causing me to stumble backward. He follows, keeping me pressed tightly into him, a firm arm around my waist.When I hear him moan softly against my mouth, it releases something inside. An unleashing ... unraveling. I let myself go completely then, melting into him. The champagne glass in my hand threatens to crash to the floor, but I manage to keep a hold of it.
He moves his hand up my thigh, under the hem of my dress, grazing my underwear. He tastes amazing, raw and hot, and with my eyes closed and his smell invading my senses I definitely feel as though I’m in a dream. Jake slides his hand under my dress and grabs my butt to pull me into him. His erection, loud and thick against me, causes a rush of something sudden and damp between my legs. Because my body is well aware of how single I am, it works as an alarm call to stop. I need to stop this now.
God, I don’t want to stop this.
When I push at him, I hear a low, frustrated noise akin to a growl escape his mouth before he finally steps back. I stare up at him, panting. His mouth is wet and red, and he’s breathing hard too. He looks aroused, fierce, almost annoyed.
I swallow. “I need to get back ... to my friends,” I say, breathless, embarrassment flooding my entire body. Who on earth was I just there? What on earth was I thinking, letting him kiss me like that and touch me like that? I don’t do things like that. Like this. But god help me, I’m so turned on.
I bring my hand to my mouth and smooth down my dress before walking on unsteady legs to set the champagne glass on his desk.When I look back at him, he seems satisfied with himself, a proud, arrogant smile arching his pretty mouth. I wonder why he looks so pleased with himself since what happened there wasn’t even nearly enough.
He licks his lips again, and then, to his shame—or perhaps mine, because he doesn’t seem ashamed in the slightest—he adjusts the erection straining against the front of his expensive trousers. It’s obvious and disgraceful, and it makes me even more embarrassed.
So, he’s hard. This ferociously attractive man is hard from kissing me.
I feel a surge of power at that notion. At the sheer idea of it. In fact, the thought dispels something from my psyche entirely, and for a split second, I think I might let him have me right here against the glass window like a wanton woman. Or on the sofa. Or on his desk.
Clearly, I’m not thinking straight. Clearly, I’m drunk.
Okay, I really need to get away from him. Now. If only I could detach my feet from the floor ...