And, well, my stupid, traitorous body forgot it was supposed to loathe the very essence of Byron St. James.
And it reacted.
It started with a strong, almost painful clenching between my legs as Byron's hand sank into my hip and his head tilted, deepening the kiss I hadn't moved to stop. My hands had moved up instinctively, grabbing the material of his shirt over his biceps, holding on instead of pushing away like they should have.
Lips already parted because I had prepared to snap at him, his tongue traced the crease, sending a full-body shiver through me as his body rose up slightly, going on his knees, and leaning over me, pressing me back against the couch. He didn't come down on me though, pressing my thighs open and resting a knee there and the other on the other side of my thigh against the back cushions. His arm moved out from underneath me and he held himself up by one arm as his other continued to hold my face still for a long minute. Until his tongue thrust into my mouth, claiming mine. That exact second, his hand slid down and closed around my throat, pressing in just enough to make me start, unsure. My eyes snapped open even as the stroking of his tongue sent a rush of wet between my legs.
Sensing or feeling the reaction in my body, a low, rolling, rumbling sound moved through Byron, making his chest vibrate, making the sound settle with another pre-orgasm fluttering of my sex.
His tongue retreated, his lips crushing mine again.
Then his hand wasn't on my throat. It was gone, nowhere, for a long second.
Then as his teeth dug into my lower lip, it reappeared, pressing hard and insistent between my thighs, up my skirt, over my panties.
I cried out against his lips, my hips bucking up at the unexpected and needed contact, my hands moving up to grab his shoulders, sinking in so hard that my fingers hurt.
He pulled back suddenly, waiting for my heavy-lids to force their way open. "Tell me no," he demanded, his tone rough, almost desperate, like he wanted me to turn him down. And I should have told him no. I should have taken the opportunity and run screaming.
I should have.
But I didn't.
I wasn't even consciously aware of making the move until I felt my hips rise up against his hand, begging for more, asking for release, giving him the permission he didn't seem to want. He made the rumbling sound again as his fingers curled and pressed into my clit. There was no pretense at teasing. His fingers found the sweet spot and they worked it, exploited it, tortured it with exquisite, perfect pressure.
In the very back of my mind, my common sense was screaming at the top of its lungs to push him off, to run screaming.
But, what can I say, it was at the very back of my mind so the sound was drowned out among my whimpers and groans as my legs went up on either side of Byron's hips and started grinding into his hand as he kept working me, kept demanding things we both knew he had no right to take from me, pleasure, when all he had afforded me so far was anything but.
His tongue plunged forward again, claiming mine, sending another shiver through my body as I angled my head up to give him better access. My entire body from the hair follicles on my head to my tiptoes felt electric, felt like currents of energy were coursing over my skin, making it prickle, making it beg for touch, for more contact, anything, everything.
Needy.
God, I had never been so needy in my life.
As if sensing the change, the catalyst, his fingers shifted, two pressing at the entrance to my body over my panties, pulsing there, as his thumb started to work my clit.
My body, expectant, overwhelmed, untouched for far too long, just let go.
My orgasm crashed through my system, starting at my clit and exploding outward until I could feel the waves over every inch of my skin. I cried out against Byron's mouth as my body shuddered hard, my fingers digging even harder into his shoulders as his fingers worked me through it, dragged it out, milked it for all it was worth.
My skin was still humming when his lips ripped from mine. He pushed up and, shocked at the cool that replaced the warmth between us, my eyes snapped open to find him looking down at me, shudders over his eyes. As soon as my eyes found his, he knifed off of me, hands leaving my panties, body completely abandoning me as he took his feet, grabbed his suit jacket, and stormed off toward the door.
"Better hope those heels didn't poke holes in my fucking leather couch, Miss. Marlow," he barked as he left.