Let's go.

Part 29 - Got me wrong

Author's note: Caution: extremely smutty...

The first time we made love I realized why

I never prayed. One human can only say

"Oh god" so many times.

- Megan Falley

How we got here is a blur. Did he drive? Did we take a cab? It's just a haze of white heat.

I place my palm on my forehead. It's hot, sweaty. Maybe he took me home and this is just a fever dream.

"This is my house." These four words are all he has said. But his mouth and hands have said the rest.

The room spins. I reach out to steady myself. My hand connects with something hard, warm, and familiar. His stomach. His chest. His shoulders. His mouth on my mouth. His hands running down my back, leaving a scorching trail of hot promise. A promise he always keeps. And I know the ending. As well as the beginning and the middle.

I rake my hands down his chest and stomach, releasing each shirt button they pass.

"Wrenna," my name is on his lips, my fingers are brushing against his warm skin as they desperately curl into the worn denim at his waist. He is holding himself back. Someone has to steady us, anchor us in the present. But I want all of him. I want my senses to be filled by him: his smell, his touch, his taste.

I nip his bottom lip, slide my fingers to his hips and dig my nails into his skin. I want to rouse him, provoke him. I want to stroke the fire burning at his core until he losses control and fucks me mindlessly. I feel the deep rumble of a chuckle rising in his chest as his fingers fist in the back of my hair and drag me back up to his lips. Finally.

But he kisses me slowly, softly. An immense juxtaposition to the tight grip his fingers have in my hair. He drags his tongue along my jaw then places his lips to my neck; my pulse flutters wildly beneath his warm, light kiss.

"We have all night," he breathes against my throat. It almost sounds like a threat. Like he won't give me what I want until the night is over.

I don't want to wait. I reach my hand down inside his pants to feel him, to briefly satiate the animal hunger tugging at my core. I run my palm down his silken, warm skin as his tongue tangles with mine. I grasp him tightly. His body stiffens. His pulse quickens. And I know I've finally riled him.

He pulls my hand from his pants, and growls against my neck: "God, I fucking hate you." I smile to myself.

His hands snake under my ass and he lifts me to his waist. I wrap my legs around him tightly as he pins me against the wall. He buries his face against the thin silk camisole covering my chest. I hear him take a deep breath, breathing me in. He pushes his hips into me harder, steading me against the wall and freeing his hands from my ass. He glides the thin straps from my shoulders and lets the camisole slide down to my abdomen. I arch my back, anxiously awaiting the rough assault of his facial hair against my sensitive skin.

But nothing.

I open my eyes and meet his gaze. He's watching me. The corners of his lips flick up momentarily, almost a smile but maybe more of a twitch. He takes my arms and places them on his shoulders. A low groan emits from his throat as my naked breasts graze against his exposed chest.

He leans off the wall, taking me with him. My legs are still tightly embracing his hips. He maneuvers around his living room furniture then carries me down a dark hall. His mouth is on my neck, nibbling the sensitive skin and his hands are spread across my ass. He stops in front of a door, kicks it open then steps into the dark room.