Free Not About Love (This Love Book 2) by Hilaria Alexander Page B

speaking, I knew this guy very well, and I knew I’d have to be a fool to say no. It would be the equivalent of saying no to pizza. Who says no to pizza? No one, that’s who. Pizza is almost impossible to turn down.
    Shit. I had just compared Boyd Rivers to one of my favorite foods. That’s how screwed up I was.
    “What do you have in mind?” I breathed out, looking around, making sure no one was paying attention to us.
    “First, we’ll go to the kitchen to hang out there for a few minutes with the excuse of looking for something to eat or drink, and then we’ll sneak out.” His warm breath caressed my neck.
    “Okay,” I agreed. What was I going to say? No? I had been yearning for him all damn day. The pull I felt for him was stronger than anything else, stronger than my brain, constantly suggesting I should stay away from him.
    I didn’t. I followed him to the kitchen where we casually picked at food that had been left on some trays. A few other people were in the kitchen, but they were paying no attention to us. There were a couple ladies immersed in a whispered conversation about which of their friends had recently gotten Botox, and an older gentleman talked quietly on the phone. By the sound of it, he was an ob-gyn who had just gotten a call from a patient. Boyd kept asking me questions about what I had been up to and I answered coyly while sampling a few pieces of cheese. I grabbed a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass, then took a drink, and found him staring at me. He glanced at the guests in the kitchen, and when he was sure they weren’t looking at us, he grabbed my chin and tipped it up. His thumb caressed my bottom lip, and I let out a shaky breath.
    His eyes were hooded and full of bad intentions.
    He took my hand and led me outside to the backyard. He opened the door on the side of the double garage and let me in. It was dark, but I could see a little since the backyard lights were shining into the garage through the small basement-style windows on the side of the building.
    His arms circled my waist, and he pressed himself against my back. I arched myself against him, feeling him hard under his clothes. He started nuzzling my neck, and his hands roamed my body in a frenzy, settling on my breasts. He gave them a squeeze and pressed harder against me. I moaned, as impatient as he was to get things started. I had been craving him for too long.
    I turned around and searched for his mouth. I pressed my lips against his and he opened, eager, possessing my tongue and my whole being with each stroke of his. I knew all too well how powerful his kisses were. They made me breathless and lightheaded.
    “Boyd,” I mumbled when he broke the kiss, already incoherent. It had been way too long since I had been fucked properly. I missed him. I missed the way he made me feel. I licked my lips, thinking about what was to come. He pushed into me, making me walk backward until we reached a work bench.
    He lifted the hem of my dress and growled when his fingers skimmed the skin of my thighs and discovered my stockings.
    “Oh, you…” were all the words that left his mouth before his lips crashed into mine again. He yanked my underwear down and made me step out of them. When my eyes met his, I noticed that same hunger I had for him.
    I wanted him more than I could explain, and I couldn’t get enough. Was it because we only saw each other every few months or so? I couldn’t tell. When I was with him, it felt as if my thirst for him would never go away. His hands on my ass got me out of my own head, and I decided to focus my attention on his mouth. His fingers started teasing my wet center and I got handsy, unbuttoning his jeans and grabbing his hard length. He moaned in my mouth and started teasing my clit more and more. I was defenseless against his touch. I was so turned on by him, his scent, his touch, he didn’t have to work that hard at all to get me close to climax. My knees buckled, and I broke the kiss