Her eyes flutter closed, her breaths coming in deep, jagged pulls. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips glossy and parted, plump from my kisses. And I cannot fucking help my huge ass smile.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her, easing out of her panties and squeezing her tighter against me.
“Wha—you—I mean I—I didn’t do anything.” She rolls in my arms, bringing us front to front and gazing up at me, looking just a little dazed and a lot cute.
My laughter is rum sauce. I might even be drunk. “You did plenty.”
She smiles. “I… I liked it.”
I tuck down and press my lips to hers. “Me too.”
When I pull back, she licks her lips and tilts her head to the side, looking coy. “Can I… Can I do that to you?”
Impossibly, I swell even more in my jeans. I bite both lips, fighting for calm. “It’s—um… It’s not necessary?”
Her brow pinches. “You don’t think it’ll feel good?”
I almost cough up a lung. “Honey, I know it’ll feel good, I just?—”
“Then why shouldn’t I?” She wriggles closer, pressing her bare breasts against my chest. The sight of them braced against my button down is the sweetest crime.
She grips my bicep once before running her hand down to the crook of my elbow. My breath stutters when she shifts and lets her touch run over my abs.
I make a noise in the back of my throat that sounds like, “Guh?—”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “That’s not a very good reason,” she purrs, making me laugh in spite of myself.
Then she tugs at the top button on my shirt. “Can I open this?”
“Yes,” I rasp.
As if I could ever fucking tell her no.
Her gaze drops to her hands. “I love a button-down,” she says almost absently. And then, like she’s studying the stitching around the buttonhole, she makes slow work of releasing the button.
My dick twitches, and I vow to wear button down shirts every day for the rest of my life.
She moves to the next button, the one at my sternum. When she unfastens this one and my shirt falls open halfway, her breath catches.
Then she hurries through the next three and throws my shirt open.
“Beck! Jesus!”
I’m pretty sure Javier and the guys can hear her all the way across the fields.
“You’re a—a—what even are you? A god? A superhero? A Hemsworth?”
My laughter breaks free. God, how can this woman have me wound up so tight and crack me up at the same time?
“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head like there’s no hope. And then promptly whips off her top. “I’ve just got to feel you.”
Then, gloriously naked from the waist up, stunning me all over again with her beauty, Hattie dives into my arms.
“Guh—” I repeat, losing my mind the instant we are skin-to-skin. Her breasts brand my chest. My crazed hands lap up the soft expanse of her back, the thrilling curve of each shoulder, the silk road of hip to underarm.
She is soft everywhere.
She is a heaven everywhere.
