She had managed to turn one of the hottest moments of his evening into a running commentary. "I mean, technically they can’t judge me because Chloe hooked up with that bartender, and Vanessa disappeared for hours earlier, but somehow when I do something—"
Dorian had had enough. His mouth moved away from her ear and closed over hers.
Silence.
Finally.
Whatever playful edge had been between them disappeared the moment their mouths met. It hit him all at once.
Her mouth was soft. Sweet from whatever ridiculous cocktail she had been drinking. And the second she parted her lips for him, he knew right then and there that he had to have her.
There was no debate. He wanted her. Naomi’s hand slid from his thigh to his shirt, gripping the fabric as he deepened the kiss.
Her other hand found the back of his neck. She pulled him closer. He dragged his fingers away from between her thighs and broke the kiss.
Naomi immediately leaned after him.
"Come on." He caught her hand, and pulled her off the stool before the next speech could begin. He yanked her by the hand and headed toward the elevators.
Naomi hurried after him. Dorian pressed the elevator button. The elevator doors opened. Dorian pulled her inside.
The doors slid shut behind them. She barely got one word out.
"So—"
His mouth crashed onto hers. Naomi made a startled sound against him, then immediately melted into the kiss.
Dorian wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He kissed her like he had run out of patience.
Naomi kissed him back with exactly the same recklessness. Dorian backed her toward the wall. He bent, caught her beneath the thighs and lifted her.
He shifted her higher against the wall and pulled her legs around his waist. His erection ground against her.
Her head fell back against the wall. "Oh..." Naomi’s fingers dug into the back of his neck. "God..."
Dorian dragged his mouth along her jaw. "You taste so fucking delicious..." He barely managed to get the words out before he leaned in again.
This time, his mouth found her neck.
The elevator doors opened directly into the private floor of the penthouse suite Dorian had reserved.
He stepped out without putting Naomi down. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, her arms locked around his neck, and every attempt she made to say something useful kept dissolving into another kiss. He reached the suite and fumbled one-handed through his back pocket for the keycard.
He swiped the card, pushed the door open, carried her inside, and kicked it shut behind them. He headed straight for the bed.
Naomi’s dress came off somewhere between the door and the mattress. Dorian’s shirt followed. One shoe landed somewhere behind them.
Then, finally, those annoying jeans Naomi had been complaining about were discarded. Within minutes, he was inside her.
"Oh my God."
Dorian stopped. "What?"
"You don’t have protection."
He stared down at her. Of all the thoughts she could have produced at that exact moment, apparently her responsible side had chosen now to return from vacation. "I didn’t exactly plan on getting fucked tonight... Want me to go downstairs and get one?"
"God, no." She tightened her legs around his ass before he could even consider moving.
He responded by moving inside her. Naomi’s head fell back against the pillow. Dorian adjusted his angle until she felt every inch of him deeper.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. "Oh..."
His mouth found her neck, then her shoulder then her breasts.
"Yes... right there. Oh God. Don’t stop."
His lips moved across her skin, leaving red marks behind long before either of them came close to climax.
Naomi was expressive in every possible way. She responded to him so openly that it made restraint almost impossible. Her hips lifted when he needed them to. Her body tightened around him at exactly the right moment. Her nails dragged down his back hard.
Dorian liked every second of it. Her commentary continued, feeding his ego shamelessly while his body pushed them both closer to the edge.
She told him exactly what felt good, complained whenever he slowed, praised him when he did something she liked. Her body tightened around him, nails digging into his back.
He drove them both into an earth-shattering climax that left Naomi breathless beneath him and Dorian wondering whether his brain had temporarily stopped functioning.
Then Naomi started laughing. Dorian lifted his head.
"What?"
"I have no idea. I’m drunk." She laughed harder.
Eventually, Dorian rolled away.
The drinking continued after that.
Sometime later, Dorian had changed into a pair of shorts while Naomi sat on the bed with the sheets wrapped around her.
A bottle of champagne sat between them. Naomi poured herself another glass.
"This just proves my point," Naomi announced. "Sex without expectations of love or feelings is epic." She downed another mouthful of champagne. "Why expect ridiculous things?" Naomi continued. "That is how people ruin everything. You start expecting flowers, asking about your day..."
"Terrible things."
"Exactly." She pointed at him with her glass. "You understand."
"Completely."
"No expectations means nobody disappoints anybody."
Dorian poured himself another drink. "Yup. You’re right. Absolutely right."
Naomi nodded enthusiastically.
Finally.
A man with sense.
Dorian leaned back against the headboard. "Marriage without the expectation of love is excellent. No one expects anything, right? Just have sex, have kids."
Her eyes lit up like he had just solved a major philosophical problem. "Yes!"
Dorian lifted his glass. "No heartbreak."
"No stupid promises."
"No emotional nonsense."
Naomi shifted closer, the sheet slipping slightly down her chest. She lifted her champagne glass toward him. "You know what? I think we should get married..."
*****
PRESENT DAY
’You’ve got two more days.’
Richard’s text dropped down across Naomi’s phone screen. Her stomach tightened immediately. Three words from that man and her entire nervous system knew exactly what to do.
Panic.
She stared at the message for a few seconds too long before Tessa’s voice dragged her attention back to the video call.
"I know that face." Tessa was lying comfortably against a mountain of pillows. "That’s your Richard-exists face."