His mouth slides from mine to my jaw, slower now, but somehow no less devastating. He kisses along the sensitive line beneath my ear, and I shiver.
“Every time you walked into a room,” he murmurs.
Another kiss, just an inch lower.
“Every time you laughed.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
“Every time I caught you watching me.”
My fingers flex in his shirt. “I never watched you.”
He doesn’t lift his head, but I can feel his smile against my skin.
“Oh, Pen.” His voice drops, rough with want. “You were always watching me.”
His hand slides down my back, deliberate, possessive, until his fingers find the zipper of my dress. He hovers there.
“But I was watching you too. There wasn’t a room I entered that I didn’t seek you out.”
My whole body goes taut with desire, blood rushing, every nerve fixed on the feel of his hand at my spine.
“You wore this for me.” Not a question, but rather a statement.
I should have known he’d know. “Yes.”
His mouth grazes my neck, and he groans.
It sends another pulse of heat through me.
“The second you walked in tonight, I stopped hearing half the conversation around me. All I could think about was getting you alone. Getting my hands on you. Getting this dress off your body.”
My breath catches.
His fingers brush the zipper again, slow enough to make me ache. “Do you know how hard it was sitting across from you?”
I tilt my head back against the wall, offering him more of my throat. “Probably not as hard as it was for me.”
That gets a low sound out of him—half laugh, half groan—and then his mouth is on mine again, deeper this time, his hand finally pulling the zipper down in one slow, maddening drag.
The dress loosens around me, the fabric slipping, his knuckles grazing bare skin as he opens me up to him. He doesn’t rush. And that’s what undoes me. The way he takes his time as though this matters. As though he’s wanted this for so long, he refuses to miss a second of it.
“Decker.” It comes out softer than I mean it to.
“I know.” His forehead presses to mine for one brief second before his mouth moves to my throat again. “I know.”
The dress slips from my shoulders.
He helps it down my body, his hands following the path of the falling fabric, palms warm and reverent over my bare skin until it pools at my feet.
The air feels cooler, sharper, and every place he touches is suddenly alive.
He steps back, and his gaze falls down my body, his thumb running over his lips. For a second, Decker just looks at me. The hunger in his eyes undoes most of my patience.
I’m standing in a black bra and panty set while he’s still fully dressed in his suit. Need settles low in my stomach and spreads.
His hand slides over my waist, then higher, slowly enough to make me tremble. “Tell me this is real.”
