Page 130 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“I know,” he says gently. “And I’m not saying that’s what he was feeling. I’m just saying…” His big chest inflates and then deflates on a breath. “I’m just saying I like every part of you, Pages.”

And I LOVE every part of you, handsome.

Thankfully, the words stay in my head.

“Hmm,” I murmur. “Are you sure you like every part?”

He grins and his palms slide down, cup my ass. “Well, I like this part.” Up, up they go, trailing along my sides, drifting forward to massage my breasts. “And I really like these parts.”

I chuckle and then do something I’ve only dreamed about, only written about:

I turn to my desk and⁠—

Sweep my arm over the surface, knocking everything to the floor.

His face is comical, so comical that laughter rises in my throat. But it dies a second later at the look in his eyes.

Because they go so fucking hot and then he’s moving.

“Oh!” I gasp as he hefts me up onto the edge of my desk. “Saw⁠—”

His lips slam down onto mine, and he kisses me…

Like I’m his first and last breath and every single one in between, all at once.

He touches me like he needs me to live.

He holds me as though I’m the most precious object on the planet.

His fingers grasp the edge of my shirt, and he tugs it up and over my head, tossing it to the side. “Fuck, I love these parts.”

I moan as he nibbles at the tops of my breasts, as he presses his nose between them and inhales deeply. A slick tongue on my skin, teeth tugging at the fabric of my bra, dragging it down and exposing my nipple to the air⁠—

And to his mouth.

“Sawyer,” I cry as he suckles at me, using his teeth and tongue and lips to drive me insane.

I wrap my legs around his waist, rock against the hard length of his erection.

He draws back.

“Wh—wait⁠—”

His hands come to the waistband of my pants and he starts to tug them down. “I’m going to love another part,” he murmurs.

Then he’s kneeling in front of me, and my pants are around my ankles, and…

His mouth is on me.

“Oh God!” I moan as he absolutely doesn’t go slow and steady, absolutely doesn’t go easy.

It’s fingers and tongue and teeth, lips and soft growls and thick fingers stretching me wide.

But before I topple over the edge, he stops.

“Sawyer!” I protest.

He grins, nips the corner of my mouth then kisses me deeply. I taste myself on his tongue, ache to have him inside me, so I don’t protest when he breaks away, when he flips me around and coaxes me to lean forward on my desk, nudges my legs apart.