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It’s no longer just my body begging for this woman. My head is on board one hundred percent. The only thing giving me pause is the fallout.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I confess, my mouth low to her ear, the scent of her skin filling my nose. “You look amazing in this dress.”
I take a step back, sweeping my eyes up and down the length of her—something that had nearly killed me, trying to keep from doing it the second she walked down the stairs earlier. My friends can read me like a book. They know the score where she’s concerned, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of watching me drool on her parents’ marble floors.
“It’s not very comfortable.” She blinks up at me. “Help me get it off?”
Whoever says they don’t want to be tortured to death wasn’t standing in front of this woman. The back and forth and anticipation are killing me, but knowing where this night is going to lead makes me want to slow it down even more and savor every single second.
“Turn around.” The husk in my voice surprises me, but she listens. Her head turns, eyes peeking over her shoulder as I reach for the zipper at her back. The rash of the teeth releasing fills the silent room, and my cock pulses in eagerness.
She doesn’t drop the dress to her feet like I expect. She winks at me, clutching the fabric to her chest and starts to walk toward the bedroom.
“I’m going to get comfortable.”
Her cheeks are pink as if she’s a little shy right now, and I have to remember that the walking around half-naked in the beginning was all a ploy. The woman was comfortable in her skin because she knew she controlled the situation. She knew she wasn’t going to go a step further than she’d done before. Tonight is going to be a brand-new experience for her, and the unknown is making her a little uneasy.
I’m not going to step away, not going to leave this room without knowing what she feels like wrapped around my dick unless she puts a stop to things. Half of me wishes she would, wishes she wouldn’t torture me with that knowledge. The other half? That half has been on board since she walked up to me, nipples pebbled from the cool air in her house with that manipulative grin on her pretty face.
I’m left standing in the middle of the room watching her walk away. Comfortable? In what? A towel? It’s not like we packed bags in preparation for tonight. I pace, knowing that once she’s fully out of that dress, she’s naked for the rest of the night.
My hands dig into my pockets when shaking them doesn’t stop the insistent urge to follow her. As they brush the tiny box there, I feel an odd sense of calm wash over me.
I’m looking down at the box, now in my hands, when she returns.
“Much better,” she whispers.
When I look up, she’s standing at the edge of the room, the toe of one bare foot drawing tiny circles in the plush carpet. My eyes drift up, revealing bare, smooth legs with just the perfect amount of tan to them. The fabric of a robe brushes the middle of her thighs, and despite the way she’s acted previously, the robe is closed tight, no hint of cleavage below her perfect neck.
She’s a seductress even when she’s not trying to be.
“I… ahh… got this for you.” I hold out the small box, unable to cross the room to her.
Maybe it’s nerves or more of animal instinct to want to watch her walk toward me on the off chance that her thigh will split the robe open.
She grins, her eyes drifting to the box in my hand, but she doesn’t immediately move.
“What is that?”
“A gift.” Her eyes find mine. “Happy birthday, Remington.”
“You got me a gift?”
I’d smile if it weren’t for the pure shock laced with sadness in her voice.
“Of course.”
Slowly, she crosses the room, taking the box from my hand. She’s making a big deal at such a small gesture. It almost makes me want to pull it back, fearful that it won’t live up to her expectations. It’s not a huge thing, or very expensive, but I saw it online—searching for shit I shouldn’t have even let inside my head—and knew I needed to get it for her.
She gasps as she pulls the lid off, and I barely resist reaching for her when a tear slides down her cheek.
“Remi?”
Watery eyes look up at mine. “It’s beautiful.”
I look back down at the butterfly, wondering if she understands the significance—that all she has to do is spread her wings and fly. She dashes away the tears, her eyes drifting back down to the belly button jewelry.
