That Blue Gibson

CH 83

A/N: Um... this might be the chapter that makes me flip it back to a mature rating. Whoops.

The entire walk through the lobby, up the elevator, down the hallway, and to their room had been excruciatingly quiet. His hand had been firmly planted on her lower back and never strayed from its spot no matter how much Liz willed it to. He was tensely unreadable to the point where she began to wonder if maybe she had said or done something wrong in front of Jordyn. She let her mind wander up to the point of thinking maybe he was going to go back to her, they were in the same hotel after all and it seemed that whoever Jonathan was, he wasn't due until tomorrow so it would be the perfect time to-

"Liz."

His voice broke her from her downward spiral of thoughts and she looked up at him in question. 

"You have the key."

Oh. Right. She dug through her bag, pushing herself near tears when she finally found it and slipped it into the lock to let them in. 

Dave brushed past her, marching straight into the bedroom as Liz dropped her bag on the couch and kicked off her shoes. The gown she had purchased with her friends as a joke now felt humiliating and foolish, he should be with a woman that knew how to dress in the bar of the Paris Ritz, one that wouldn't humiliate him because she thought she was being funny. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and was about to unzip it when she heard him come back into the sitting room. A sharp snap of the switch and then the whoosh of the fuel followed by the orange glow of the gas fireplace made her turn around and her heart leaped to her throat at the look on his face.  

She knew that look... the same one she gave him back in Oregon when Kyle had limped into their already fragile bubble, the one that told her he needed to be reminded that he was wanted, that she wouldn't cast him aside when things got rough. Turning away again, she pulled the elastic from her hair and ran her fingers through the strands, loosening the curls at the ends before bending over the back of the couch to toss the tie in her bag.  

Then suddenly he was on her, feeling around the beaded bodice of her dress to find the zipper with his face in her hair. She tried to turn to him, but he pinned her against the couch with his hips and pressed his lips just behind her ear. "Hold still," he growled, making her legs weak. The vintage zipper on her dress was almost older than the two of them combined and caught, as old metal zippers are wont to do in the most desperate of situations, effectively trapping Liz in the dress. 

"Fuck it," he snapped. He clamped his hands around her waist and shoved, sending her forward over the back of the couch. 

She felt his hands at her ankles quickly gathering the yards of black tulle that made up the skirt of her gown and stood to help but he made a frustrated grunt, pushing her back over the couch with his hand between her shoulder blades. 

"Don't... move."

The throw pillow under her hand crumpled as she gripped it with white knuckles, completely overcome with how badly she wanted him. The way he positioned her just the way he wanted her, the level of want in his voice, it was all so fucking hot. Once her dress was around her waist and out of his way, he slowly stood back up, running his hand up the inside of her right thigh to the black cheeky boyshorts she had on underneath. 

"These are a problem," he said quietly, tracing his finger over the hem until he reached her tattoo. 

"I'm happy to be of assistance but you told me not to move," she called over her shoulder. She knew he wasn't in the mood for her sass, but she couldn't help it. That's just who she was.

She heard him softly laugh then stand and move to her side. She thought he was going to lean down to kiss her, but she felt the softness of his jeans against her hip and then a sudden sharp crack as his palm connected with her ass.