“This is so wrong …” Emma breathed out against his lips when he pinned her up against the wall.
“Is it?” Alexander echoed, slipping his hands underneath her large sweater, grazing her lips.
“She’s my friend …” Emma argued weakly, albeit unwilling to push him off.
“Don’t think about it.” He merely replied, starting to nibble on her neck.
As his lips nipped down on her sensitive skin, Emma let out a breathless moan and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, so that he could hook her legs around his torso, effectively seizing her in his arms. The walk to his bedroom was short, and before she could say anything, she found herself on his bed, him hovering over her.
His every touch was inebriating, the way his lips knew exactly where to go in order for her to lose sight of her moral duties, the way his hands skillfully caressed every inch of her skin, as if savoring it in advance, was driving her insane. And when she met his fiery gaze, Emma knew she was doomed. She had no chance but to surrender to this devil that was tempting her, pushing her towards something that – she was well aware – would be difficult to give up on once set in motion.
Emma didn’t remember ever feeling like that. She had no memory of a time when every single touch, every single kiss felt so intoxicating yet irresistible, scorching yet refreshing. Every single moan felt like a liberating chant meant to free her from years of solitude and repression, and at the same time it was the longing call for more, more, more.
Maybe it was due to abstinence, or maybe he was way too good to be true, with his ragged sexy look that screamed Temptation Personified. Whichever the cause, Emma knew that the way her whole body surrendered to him meant one thing and one only: danger.
Alas, every single negative thought flew out the window when Alexander’s hard chest pressed against her after he’d taken off his t-shirt. Her legs still hooked around his torso, Emma unbuckled his jeans and helped him slide them off. Their moans entwined just as much as their bodies when he pushed inside her.
Emma whispered his name while tracing the tattoo on his back with her fingers, which caused him to wince the slightest, yet he didn’t stop. She was fairly certain she’d felt a scar underneath her fingertips, but she would never dare ask. This would be a onetime thing, she repeated herself, a onetime thing.