But all I want now is to ride on the carousel of desire with him.
“I’m sooo sorry for objectifying your strength,” I tease as he turns through the doorway to his bedroom, then sets me down on my bare feet.
The man stares at me, smolder in his irises. “Actually, youshouldobjectify me all night long,” he rumbles as his eyes roam up and down my frame.
I feel naked under his gaze, and I like it a lot.
Need licks at my skin.
Harlan peers at my dress. “Got a zipper on that?”
An idea bursts before me, bright and powerful.
“Rip it off,” I urge.
He lifts one questioning brow. “You want me to tear off your dress? You sure?”
The idea takes a delicious, cathartic hold of me. I need this. I have to have it. I grab a handful of the chiffon skirt. “I’m not wearing this again. I promise.”
“Do you want to sell it?”
Just like I need to have him tonight, I need him to shred this dress from my body. “No. I want you to tear it off me.”
He gives a slow and sexy shrug. “What the lady wants…”
My shirtless football player fireman closes the distance, spins me around, sets his big hands on my back.
I shiver in anticipation.
This want feels exhilarating.
Necessary too.
I draw a breath, waiting for him to tug the fabric in one rip. His hands clasp around the top of the chiffon.
But instead, soft lips whisper across my skin.
“Oh God,” I gasp, unbidden.
Unexpectedly.
His mouth travels across my back, dusting reverent, open-mouthed caresses along my body. I arch into his touch, craving more. “Yes,” I murmur.
He roams along my skin to my shoulder, presses a hungrier kiss right there, then coasts those decadent lips over my neck. “Mmm. You taste delicious,” he says.
I shudder as a pulse beats between my legs.
This man does things to me. He has since the night I met him. And he seems to sense my needs before I’m even fully aware of them.
Like he knew I needed gentle, tender kisses first.
He picks up the pace, kissing me harder, rougher. Then he digs his teeth into my shoulder. I cry out as he bites me, tossing my head back as the ache turns both sweet and sharp.
“Mmm. You still like biting, I see.”
“From you,” I add, since that feels important. I want him to know thathebrings out this feral cat in me, who likes to play and nip. With Harlan, I seem to possess an animalistic desire to tussle.
“Is that so? You saved your biting for me, sweetheart?”
