His hand clasped hers. Lifted her arm out straight and gently rotated it until he could brush a finger over her outer elbow. “Always loved the dimples here. Thought about them for two damn decades. Pictured touching ’em.”
The least practical corner of her soul swooned at that, although she’d have sworn to anyone that souls didn’t actually exist.
Eager to touch him in return, she freed her hand and reached for his jeans-clad erection.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Lose control if you do that.”
“Really?” Her glower was only semi-faked. “You’restilldenying me your dick?”
He lifted a burly shoulder, unapologetic. “Seems like. That a problem?”
Honestly? Even though she was hungry to get her hands on him and make him feel as good as he was makingherfeel, she was enjoying this pillow princess gig too. At least for now. The utter unfamiliarity of receiving more than she gave to a man was kind of intoxicating.
With a lazy flick of her wrist, she flopped back against the pillows. “Go ahead and pleasure me, then. I’ll just lie here and take it.”
“Appreciate your cooperation, Dearborn,” he told her, sounding amused.
His smile faded as he refocused on her body, his expression turning intent. Slowly, he skimmed his knuckles over the soft skin of her inner arm, from shoulder to wrist. Traversed the swell of her cheek with a light stroke of his thumb. Had her flex her thigh so he could admire the muscles there. Urged her onto her belly so he could rub his bristly cheek along the length of her neck, up to her hairline. Trailed a palm down her spine, then skipped her ass entirely to wrap his fingers around the sturdy curve of her calf.
“When we volunteered at HHB?” His voice was a rasp, quieter than she’d ever heard it. “You’d lift your skirt to climb over barriers. Saw your legs in those thick white stockings a dozen times. Wanted to get my hands on them so goddamn badly. Thought about them at night. Jerked off to them in the shower.”
She turned her head toward him on the pillow. Smiled tauntingly. “I’d gladly jerk you off myself while you touched my legs, but you won’t let me.”
He glared at her. Then kept exploring without another word, each touch a tribute to every overlooked part of her. Only... those details hadn’t truly been overlooked, had they? He’d noticed them. Noticed andadmired.
Something about that made her eyes prick with tears.
By the time he finished paying homage to her shoulder blades, her ankles, her hair, she was trembling, overwhelmed by physical need and emotional upheaval, seconds away from sliding a hand between her own legs and taking care of the need he’d stoked.
Once he had her on her back again, though, there was no mistaking the increased urgency suffusing every bit of physical contact. Without hesitation, he reached out and ran his thumbs over her nipples. Tweaked them boldly as she sucked in a sharp, pleased breath. Plucked at them until they were hard enough to ache, each little pinch echoing in her clit.
She lifted eagerly into his touch. Snapped her thighs shut and squeezed them together, because some pressure was better than nothing.
His palms cupped her breasts, and he lowered his head between them. Lightly rubbed his beard against the sensitive flesh there until she helplessly giggled and squirmed. Still bent over the side of the bed, he slid his chin higher, into the crook of her shoulder, and dragged his open, hot mouth up her neck as his right hand smoothed over her belly and down lower.
“Stop,” she panted, because yes, she wanted that big hand between her legs again. But until she’d actually seen him naked too, explored his body too, given him pleasure too, she intended to wait for her next orgasm. “Time for turnabout, Dean.”
The moment she slammed on the verbal brakes, he froze. Wrenched himself away from her, eyes wild with need.
She met his dark stare boldly.
“Strip.” If the pillow princess intended to become the reigning queen of his dick, his clothing needed to disappear. Right now. “Slowly.”
Part of her wanted to do the job herself. But she’d be touching him soon enough, and she’d undress him next time. This time, as he’d said earlier, she just... wanted to look for a while.
Maybe more than a while. Maybe more than a month, even.
Heaven help them both.
19
Karl set his fists on his hips, outrage drawing his brows together. “I was gonna—”
“I know.” The memory of that hand-delivered orgasm in his bakery would fuel her fantasies for decades to come. “Take off your clothes instead, please.”
To her satisfaction, he didn’t keep arguing. Instead, cheeks reddening even more above his beard, he swallowed visibly and reached for the hem of his tee. The journey his shirt took over his head wasn’t especially slow, but she wouldn’t quibble. Not when she could openly admire the breadth of his bare, barrel chest at long freaking last, then compare the swell of his belly with hers—his looked harder, for whatever reason—and visually trace the central trail of hair leading inexorably downward. Not when his strong shoulders and thick arms flexed so beautifully as he tossed aside his shirt and started on the button of his jeans.
He was definitely the hottest man she’d ever seen shirtless. Bar none.
