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“You are a devil woman,” I muttered. “I’m trying to do something nice.”
The second zipper hissed slowly, followed by another tug and a drop. Another groan.
“Ian,” she said in a teasing tone, “orgasms are also very nice, and I’d love one of those.”
With a raised brow, I turned and pinned her with a look over my shoulder. “Just one?” I clucked my tongue. “Sweetheart, I’m no underachiever.”
“That so?” With her elbows braced on her thighs, my mouth went dry as she leaned forward, the swell of her breasts testing the constraints of her lace bra. “I am quite excited to get to know this side of you. I bet you save all your best talking for the bedroom, don’t you?” Harlow tilted her head, her eyes glittering dangerously, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “If I can hit two orgasms before you even lose the pants, will you call me your good girl?”
My hands tightened on the box of fruity monstrosity, and as we stared at each other, the string of sexual tension pulled so tight that I could hardly breathe. All it took was one sly smile from Harlow, and I threw the box aside.
“I fucking tried,” I said as I hauled her up from the chair and gripped the sides of her face before taking her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted, sliding her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, until her fingers dug into my hair. “I tried,” I said against her delicious lips.
Harlow tightened her arms, arching her back to press closer, and kissed me again, a sweet, helpless sigh escaping as I licked into her mouth. My hands slid down the silky skin of her arms, tugging at the tiny straps holding up her bra, and then my palm coasted up around her ribs, filling next with the warm weight of her breast. She was a perfect handful.
She broke away from the kiss, a sweet gasp echoing through the kitchen when I dragged my thumb over the hard tip underneath the lace. I sucked at the skin just underneath her jaw, relishing in the way she writhed in my arms.
So perfect.
So responsive.
And fucking mine.
Every gasp, every prick of her fingernails into my skin, every caught breath and fierce kiss, I knew we were perfectly, perfectly matched. Her arms were sleek and strong, and when she curled her thigh around my hip to rock her body against mine, I knew this glorious woman could take every damn thing I’d give her.
And I’d give her everything.
I wasn’t sure my bed frame, made from solid fucking maple, could handle what was about to happen. The sheer bone-cracking lust screaming through my veins made me feel like I could crush it to sawdust with my bare hands.
And that was before she ripped at the belt around my waist, the clank of the metal closure the only thing punctuating the wet sounds of our endless biting, sucking kisses. My skin tightened dangerously until I couldn’t help but press into her when she edged her nimble fingers underneath the waistband of my jeans.
She teased first, though, because hell if Harlow wasn’t trying to unleash that beast I’d been keeping perilously in check. Her fingertips tickled the line of hair that disappeared into my black boxer briefs, and my whole frame shuddered.
Pulling back a fraction of an inch, she sucked lightly at my bottom lip, then released it with a pop and whispered, “You know, now that I think about it, I am starving.”
My eyes rolled back when she slid her warm palm down, grasping me fully in hand. Her grip was exactly right, just tight enough, and she moved her wrist up and down, maddeningly, brazenly slow. I pressed my forehead to hers, pinched tight in painful anticipation, as she worked me until my entire body trembled.
The force of how much I wanted her made it impossible to think straight, and I sucked in great deep breaths to try not to lose my fucking mind.
I loved her.
I loved her.
And somehow, impossibly, she loved me too. Just as much. Just as big. And because it was us, there was no doubt it was forever.
She’d love me through my flaws, through my fears, through the highs and lows and the good and bad, just like I’d love her through the same.
A night like this, when we had hours of uninterrupted time together, was the beginning of everything. I wanted her in endless ways, wanted her in ways I’d never had anyone, and even as a filthy carousel of those options flashed through my head—filthy fucking and back-snapping orgasms that had her screaming, and dirty words I’d never wanted to use with anyone—I knew that just as badly, I wanted her sweet and slow, to tell her how beautiful she was while I kissed every inch of her body; that I wanted her in my arms while I fell asleep, and I wanted to wake with my arm locked tight around her.
Harlow nudged her nose with mine, another slow, decadent kiss drawing a breathy moan from her lips. She fumbled with the clasp of her bra while I tugged at the cups, and we both groaned when I filled my palm with her warm flesh that I wanted to bite and lick and suck when I got her into a bed.
When I flicked the edge of my nail over her nipple, she gasped, her hand tightening reflexively.
Before I could do something stupid, like come in my pants like a teenager, I ripped her hand out of my pants and started walking her backward, my hands clamped hard around her hips.
Instead of kissing her, I held her gaze unflinchingly, coasting my hands over the curves of her ass. “You know why I wanted to feed you dinner first?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Because you’re a masochist and knew I’d be going out of my skin by the time we were done?”
