Hot in the City. Samantha Hunter

couldn’t wait to see what would come next.

      “I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he managed to say in between deep, wet kisses that she could easily find addicting.

      She pulled back and, remembering the moment on the plane when she’d first seen him, she reached up and pushed the recalcitrant shock of hair, which always fell forward, back in place.

      He smiled at that and captured her hand with his, bringing it to his lips.

      “Upstairs, then?”

      Della nodded and turned toward the stairs, but was swamped with sudden doubt. She’d never done this before, meeting a man she barely knew and taking him home to bed. Taking him to her room, her sanctuary, was too intimate, crazy as that seemed considering what they were about to do, and she faltered as she crossed the entry.

      His hands cupped her shoulders, rubbing lightly.

      “Everything okay?”

      Was it?

      What if she disappointed him? He was clearly more experienced and more at ease. What if...?

      “I can leave. It’s okay, Della” he said reassuringly.

      She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

      “I’m sorry. Cold feet, I guess. Do you mind if we...stay downstairs?”

      “Sure. Listen, let’s sit, have a glass of wine and talk. There’s no pressure. I’ve enjoyed your company, and whether this goes further or not, that doesn’t change.”

      The sincerity in his voice did her in. That was sexier than anything, and Della was quite sure she wasn’t going to let him leave until after they had both gotten naked. But a glass of wine sounded good, too.

      “Thank you. I do have a nice white wine that I haven’t opened yet. If you want to go in and sit, I can get it from the fridge.”

      “Sounds perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss the side of her neck, sending sparks dancing over her skin.

      Della hurried with the wine, hoping Gabe didn’t change his mind, and she almost heaved a sigh of relief when she found him settled comfortably on the sofa, looking at an architectural magazine from her coffee table.

      He looked so...right, sitting there. Relaxed and at home, incredibly masculine. And for the moment, all hers.

      What was she worried about?

      She’d uncorked the wine in the kitchen and brought two glasses with her, setting them on the table, noting he’d pulled the curtains. She filled one of the glasses and turned to him.

      He put down the magazine, offering a curious look at the single glass.

      She bit her lip, jumping in and convincing herself to take this chance to explore some fantasies, perhaps.

      Handing him the glass, she didn’t sit next to him, but instead lowered down over his lap, straddling his strong thighs and enjoying the flicker of surprise—and approval—in his expression.

      Della took the glass from his hand, dipped her finger into the bright, golden wine and traced it over his lips.

      Heat sparked in his eyes, and she was relieved again that she hadn’t spoiled the evening. Leaning down to lick it from his mouth, she was surprised to feel him catch his breath.

      So she did it again, though this time he caught her finger in between his lips and sucked the taste from her skin, and it was her turn to gasp at the incredible sensation.

      She knew that fingertips were one of the most concentrated nerve centers in the body, but she’d never really considered them an erogenous zone before—until Gabe sucked in her finger a second time, sending a shock of pleasure down between her thighs, which tightened and squeezed his.

      Gabe noticed. “Do it again.”

      She did, dipping her fingers into the wine and then to his mouth, and the same sensation made her shudder, her eyes closing.

      “It’s, um, been a while,” she managed, breathless. “I guess I’m extra sensitive.”

      “Well, that makes this even more fun,” he said, taking the wineglass from her and setting it on the table next to the magazines.

      He didn’t take his eyes from hers as he slid his fingers up under her tank top, lifting it up over her head. Then he removed her bra and gazed at her breasts with raw hunger in his eyes.

      “Gorgeous,” he said roughly and took the glass of wine again, now wetting his fingers with the Riesling and tracing the wet, cold wine around one nipple, making her whimper. He licked it off and then he did the same to her other breast.

      “Oh, yes,” she panted, tightening her thighs on his.

      “More?”

      “Please.”

      He repeated the process until Della was so close to the edge of orgasm that she could only brace herself on his shoulders and focus on all of the sensations, but it wasn’t quite enough.

      Until he put the wine down, and while still kissing her breasts he began to gently rub the heel of his hand between her legs.

      Seconds later, she was crying out in a voice that didn’t sound like herself at all, the quick rush of satisfaction both offering some relief, but also making her hungrier.

      Gabe pulled back, his eyes bright, his jaw taut with arousal. Looking down, Della saw more evidence of that, and smiled, pride surging through her.

      She’d done that. To a man like Gabe.

      What else could she do?

      She drew her tongue along the strong cords of his neck and let one hand slip down to investigate that prominent evidence of his own excitement.

      He growled, or groaned, a purely masculine expression of desire as she touched him, pressing her fingers over him through the fabric of his slacks. He turned his head, taking her mouth in a hot kiss that threw fuel on the fire inside of her. This time, touching wouldn’t be enough.

      “You need to get those pants off.” Her voice sounded strange to her, breathless and urgent, saying those words so boldly.

      “I agree,” Gabe said as she moved off of him, finding her knees slightly shaky as she stood in the middle of her apartment. It was surreal, watching him undress. He peeled off his clothes without preamble or self-consciousness, throwing them on the plush floral rug, and his shirt landed over a chair across from her. Taking her cue from him, Della peeled off her skirt and panties, and then they were both standing there naked in her living room.

      It went far beyond any fantasy she’d had on the plane, or, well, ever. This moment with Gabe, looking at his strong, lean form, the impressive erection that jutted out from his thighs and the intensity in his face as he studied her—it was a memory meant for a lifetime.

      He closed the distance between them in two easy steps, pulling her up close, flush against him. She was more than a foot shorter than him, so her face cradled against his pectorals, his shaft at her waist. She turned her head, rubbing her skin against the light sprinkling of hair, and darted her tongue out to taste him.

      “Della,” he said, his tone a mix of protest and a need so thick in his voice that he didn’t sound quite the same, either. “Wait,” he said, letting her go so he could retrieve an item from his wallet, quickly covering himself. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, watching and absorbing every erotic detail.

      She raised her eyes to his and he smiled.

      “There are other things I want to do to you, lovely Della, so many things. But for now, I think we both need this,” he whispered as he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. “I fantasized about you like this, being inside of you, all of that time on the plane,” he added as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

      “Really?” she squeaked as he put his