Tommy Sallow is onto better and brighter things. After working a small hometown beat in upstate New York, he's finally in sunny California. As expected, it's the same shit in a different town. Except, you know, now he's near the ocean and miserable...
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By the time we get to the hotel, the sexual tension between us is higher than the Empire State Building. I can't think straight. I could barely back out of the driveway and we almost forgot Amber's bag on the porch. She told me to stop and I slammed on the brakes.
"My bag is on the porch."
"Fuck. I'll go grab it."
Her shivering laugh was to die for. "Forget it. I don't need it, just drive."
"Are you kidding? You're gonna need a change of clothes," I laughed with her, jumping out of the car and darting up to the porch. I threw the bag carelessly onto the back seat and when I slid back into the driver's side, she was leaning over the center console, waiting for me with an eager smile.
"Warm my mouth up with yours please," was her simple request.
"Shit, okay." I was all too willing to oblige, connecting my lips to hers and tasting the lingering cocoa on her tongue again as it tangled with mine.
Chocolate and her. A blissful combination.
Amber's fumbling with her key card now outside her hotel room door, yammering about how she can't concentrate with my hands all over her but I'm not moving them. They live here now. Get used to it, woman.
The door barely has time to shut before I grip her waist a little tighter and do a spin move to face her, pressing her up against the wall with a touch more force than I intended. Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly with a soft gasp. For a split second, I wonder if it was too much, if I was too rough with her. But I'm rewarded quickly with her answer as she grabs the collar of my shirt, pulls me closer to her and devours me with another kiss.
Fuck, I missed her mouth. It doesn't seem to matter that I've managed to lock lips with her a handful of times since she got here a short time ago. I don't think I'll ever get sick of the feeling that rushes through my body when we kiss.
Her fingers glide up my neck and into my hair as the kiss deepens, the slow brush of her tongue turning me inside out and all I can think about is getting closer to her. My hands slide up her stomach, gathering the material of her t-shirt as I go and feeling the soft creamy skin underneath. She unlatches her mouth from mine, the softest whimper pouring from her when our lips are momentarily separated, but her arms raise like a reflex to let me take her shirt off.
I capture her mouth again, fast as lightning as her tongue sweeps mine, slow as molasses. Warm, agonizingly soft as she thoroughly explores my mouth and I attack hers right back, commanding myself to slow down and match her pace, revel in it. But the sensations are driving me mad.
I want to taste her, feel her, touch every part of her body. I want to make her mine, properly. Finally.
My hand drifts down between us, fingers yanking at the waist of her pants. "Amber," I mutter against her lips. It's a request, a warning, and a dose of unadulterated need all rolled into one.
