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“Don’t worry, Bree,” he assured, the deep, melodic timbre of his voice answering my thoughts as he stroked my leg.
My gaze traveled his body, snagging on the hardness behind his zipper, my cheeks instantly heating at the obvious wet spot I’d left there. He followed my line of sight, pride gleaming in his expression.
I shifted back on the bed. “Does that mean it’s over?”
His smile faded, nearly turning outraged. I was about to assure him that I was joking, but my words were lost once again when he reached back and tugged his shirt off over his head, revealing an expanse of hard, beautiful skin that I was dying to touch, to know.
“Never, Bree.”
He lunged, grasping my face with both hands and drawing deep, biting kisses from my lips. My gaze caught on the tattoo on his arm before a particularly deep kiss had me closing my eyes instinctively, which ratcheted up the intensity of his touch. His hands wandered, blazing a path down the length of my neck that his mouth followed eagerly, leaving a line of open-mouthed kisses that had me gasping for breath. I forced my eyes open, desperate to watch, to see him, but he was no longer standing in front of me.
He was kneeling.
Just like he’d been on the patio at Ari’s.
And at the hospital.
Our gazes locked as we shared the memories, one of his hands anchored on my bare thigh and the other cutting a path across my collarbone and over the curve of my breast. I shivered as he brushed over my breast again, his gaze darkening as the second pass confirmed that I was bare underneath. I threw my hair out of my face and smiled at him, and he returned it as his thumb stroked back and forth over my nipple, hardening it into a subtle peak.
This is the part I previously faced with dread, even to the point of taking over and redirecting. When you grew up without a mother and went through puberty with a grandmother who was, let’s say… emotionally unavailable, things inevitably slipped through the cracks.
Like the fact that inverted nipples were normal.
But bless us all, Vinh Lott knew what to do.
Without missing a beat, he moved to my other breast and continued his ministrations, circling and pinching through the fabric until I was nothing more than an electrified puddle of need. I gasped, arching my back as he leaned forward and sucked the peak through my—his—shirt. “Vinh,” I pleaded.
I felt his answering smile against my breast followed by the warmth of his breath as he replied, “Yes, Bree?”
“Please… please,” I chanted, falling back onto the bed and throwing a forearm over my eyes.
And then I was moving again. Right before I’d found my peak. Again.
I wasn’t mad.
I was furious with need.
He grabbed my thighs and dragged me down the bed until my ass was right on the edge, causing my shirt to bunch up under my breasts. Then he shifted me to the side so that my left leg—the one with the bad ankle—was straightened along the length of the bed. He reached over and carefully propped my foot on a pillow.
“Good?” he asked as he lifted my leg and added one more pillow.
I had never been manhandled so much in my life or with such care.
I loved it.
I nodded, unable to communicate any of that but aware enough to wonder what to do with my right foot that was dangling off the edge of the bed. I was lying in a position that would almost be considered normal except that my head was closer to the middle of the bed than the top. He lightly traced a hand down the length of my leg, and when he reached my ankle, he circled it before pushing it toward me. My knee now bent, he placed my foot on the edge of the bed and tapped the top of it in silent command to keep it there.
Then he ran his hand back up to my knee.
And pushed it out.
And down.
Ohmygod.
My body complied to his manipulations, hip muscles stretching with the movement. He moved my panties to the side and exposed my bare pussy for the first time and inhaled sharply as the scent of my arousal thickened in the air.
And I watched in complete and absolute rapture from where I was laid out on the bed as Vinh’s face disappeared between my legs.
