Climbing Into My Sister's Fiancé's Bed novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Room 412

Sullivan knocks at one in the morning and Jolene takes what she asked for; at dawn his mother is waiting in the lobby with a checkbook.

I opened the door and Sullivan was standing in the hall with his jacket over his arm.

He still had my key card in his hand.

I had drunk nothing all night but club soda, and I was clear-headed and wide awake.

"I told myself I wouldn't come," he said.

"You told yourself that for three hours."

"Four."

He looked at me, and I looked back, and neither of us said anything polite.

"Say what you want," I said. "I said it first. Your turn."

His grey eyes dropped to my mouth and came up again.

"I want to put you on that bed," he said. "I want to take that dress off you and not stop until you're shaking."

"Good," I said. "Come in."

He came in.

The door had barely shut when he had me against it, one hand flat beside my head, the other at my waist.

He was breathing.

"I'm thirty-three years old," he said against my ear. "I have never done anything like this."

"I'm twenty-six and I plan to be very bad at being sorry."

He laughed, low, and then he kissed me.

It was not careful.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed me.

I fisted my hands in his shirt and pulled him against me until I felt how hard he was through his trousers.

"Sullivan," I said. "The zipper. Now."

His hand found the zipper at my back and pulled it down slowly, all the way.

The satin slid off my shoulders and hit the floor.

I had nothing on under it but a black thong.

He stepped back just far enough to look.

"Christ," he said, rough. "Jolene."

"You can look later." I pulled his belt open. "Take your shirt off."

He did, fast, buttons skittering across the carpet.

His chest was broad and warm under my palms, and I dragged my nails down it and watched his stomach clench.

He picked me up like I weighed nothing.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me to the bed and put me down in the middle of it.

Then he knelt over me and kissed down my throat and across my collarbone and took my breast in his mouth.

I arched up and said his name loud enough for the next room to hear.

"Let them hear it," he said into my skin.

"Make me."

He sucked my nipple hard and slid his hand down inside my thong, and two fingers pushed into me.

I was so wet that I heard it.

"You've been thinking about this," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word.

"Every night."

He worked his fingers in and out of me, curling them, and his thumb found my clit and circled it slow.

I grabbed the sheets with both hands.

"Don't stop. If you stop I swear to God I'll hurt you."

"I'm not stopping."

He kissed his way down my stomach, pulled the thong off with his teeth, and put his mouth on me.

I cried out.

His tongue was slow and certain, flat and then pointed, and he held my hips down when I tried to buck.

I felt it building in my thighs, in my stomach, in the backs of my knees.

"I'm going to come," I said. "Sullivan, I'm going to."

He groaned against me and sucked my clit, and I broke apart, shaking, with my fingers in his hair.

He didn't let me rest.

He crawled up my body, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at me.

"Now you," I said.

I pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.

I unzipped him, pulled his cock out, and wrapped my hand around it.

It was thick and hot and heavy in my palm, and he hissed through his teeth.

I lifted my hips and sank down on him an inch at a time.

He was big. I felt every inch, the stretch of it, the fullness, and I held still with my forehead against his.

"God," he said. "You feel like..."

"Shut up and fuck me."

He gripped my hips and thrust up into me, and the noise I made didn't sound like me at all.

I rode him hard, my hands on his chest, my hair falling around us.

He watched me with his mouth open, and every time I dropped down he groaned.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked at him.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Say something dirty instead," I said, and he flipped us over.

He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand and drove into me, deep and fast, until the headboard knocked the wall.

"This is what you wanted," he said, low. "Say it."

"Yes. More. Harder, Sullivan."

He gave me harder.

I wrapped my legs around his back and met every thrust, and when his free hand slid between us and rubbed my clit, I screamed.

I came around him, clenching, and that was what undid him.

He buried his face in my neck, shuddered, and came inside me with a ragged groan, again and again.

We lay there, tangled, until our breathing slowed.

He stayed on his elbows above me and brushed my hair off my face with a hand that wasn't quite steady.

"I should feel guilty," he said.

"Do you?"

He thought about it, honestly, and kissed me.

"No."

We did it again before the sun came up, slowly this time, with the lamp on.

At seven I woke to the sound of the shower running.

I smiled at the ceiling and stretched.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand with a text from an unknown number.

"Downstairs. Lobby. Now. Come alone. L. Tattnall."

I went down in yesterday's green dress with my hair a mess.

Lavinia Tattnall sat in the lobby in a pale chair with her ankles crossed and a leather checkbook open on her knee.

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