The Spotlight

Chapter 29

Gary's fingers lace with mine as he tugs me toward his bedroom, and with each step, the simmer I've held in check for months threatens to boil over. My pulse hammers a frantic drum solo against my ribs. His room... warm lamplight spills across crisp white sheets, beckoning. The air, thick with the familiar, subtle sweet and spice of his cologne, wraps around me before my gaze snaps back to his eyes, to the inferno brewing there.

His gaze pins me, the raw heat in it sucking the air from my lungs. That look - the one I've caught in stolen moments, a secret hunger when he thought I wasn't watching - is now unveiled, burning directly into me. No pretense. No retreat. Just us, on the precipice of... everything.

"Come here," he rasps, the sound scraping against my already frayed nerves. Each step feels like wading through thick honey, drawn by a force I've resisted for too long.

His fingers slide between mine again, drawing me so close his warmth becomes my atmosphere, the familiar scent of him - clean soap, warm skin, and that cologne - a dizzying intoxicant. We've been this close before, fleetingly, but tonight... tonight the air crackles, charged with the promise of barriers disintegrating. The first, feather-light brush of his lips against my shoulder ignites a cascade of sparks beneath my skin; every nerve ending hums, thrillingly awake. I tilt my head, an offering-a silent plea for more.

His mouth, deliberate and devastatingly slow, charts a course up the column of my neck, each damp kiss a brand, staking a claim his lips have only imagined. When he reaches the exquisitely sensitive hollow beneath my ear, a tremor works its way down my spine, and a tiny, involuntary whimper escapes my throat. I can't stop it if my life depends on it.

"Gary," I gasp, the name a sigh against his skin as his lips find their way back to mine.

This isn't the tentative exploration of before. This is certainty. His mouth moves against mine with a newfound possession, a hunger that tastes of dark promises and the sweet, sharp tang of him. My fingers tangle in the lapels of his suit jacket, desperate to feel the man beneath the layers I've only brushed against. The expensive wool whispers to the floor, a discarded formality, and my hands spread across the hard breadth of his shoulders, the thin cotton of his shirt a frustrating, tantalizing barrier.

Our tongues twine, a familiar dance imbued with the heady knowledge that tonight, there is no stopping. I catch his lower lip, suckling gently, and a low rumble vibrates from his chest into mine, a sound that resonates deep in my own. My hands, trembling slightly, find the buttons of his shirt. Each one that surrenders is a victory, unveiling another sliver of skin I've only dared to trace in my imagination. The first full sight of his chest - not artificial magazine-perfect, but powerfully real, the subtle swell of muscle dusted with wiry, dark hair my fingers ache to explore - steals the air from my lungs. Beneath my exploring fingertips, his skin is fire a living heat radiating into my own palms, coiling low and urgent in my belly. I map the firm planes, the subtle rise and fall of his ribs with each quickening breath, his heart thudding a wild counterpoint to my own as my touch ventures lower.

His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones, a familiar gesture made achingly new by the molten gold in his eyes. He tilts my head back, recapturing my mouth, the kiss deepening, almost bruising in its intensity as my fingers skate across his newly bared skin. A light drag of my nails over his pectoral, and a choked sound tears from his throat, muffled against my lips-a delicious discovery I catalog for future torment.

His hands slide from my face, tracing a fiery path down my neck, over my shoulders. When his knuckles brush the first button of my dress, he pauses, his gaze, dark and questioning, locking with mine despite the inferno raging between us. I cover his hand with my own, guiding his fingers, a silent yes. He takes over, each tiny fastening yielding more of me to his devouring gaze. The heat in his expression isn't just desire; it's something akin to worship, and it sends a hot blush blooming across my skin, from my chest to my cheeks.