“Your fantasies are pretty PG,” he teases, his hands flexing on my hips.
“Not all of them,” I warn as I pull one of the ends free.
I let out a tiny delighted gasp as it unravels, the silk tails hanging loose and open around his neck. I grab them and savagely yank him to me for another kiss. The tie drops forgotten to the floor as my fingers work feverishly to unbutton his shirt. When the last one pops free, I try to tug it off but it snags on his wrists. I growl in frustration.
“Hang on, sweetheart. Cuff links.” He looks amused as he fumbles with a sleeve.
“Did you just call mesweetheart?”
“Maybe.” He eyes me as he works the first one loose and drops it into my hand. “Is that antifeminist too?”
“No, I loved it. Say it again.”
He smirks. “I think you’re more of a romantic than I am.”
“Hmm, that didn’t sound likesweetheart.”
A smile teases his lips as he takes the link from me and sets them on his dresser; then I yelp when he grabs me by the waist and hauls me against him. His shirt’s still on, flapping open, and I slide my fingers under the crisp cotton, laying my palms on his bare chest. His heart beats a wild rhythm under my hand.
He brings his lips to my ear.“Sweetheart,”he murmurs. He presses a string of featherlight kisses down the side of my neck to the hollow of my throat.“Honey.”He nips and pecks up the other side until his breath tickles the shell of my ear. “My little...pumpernickel.”
I can’t help laughing, though my nipples are standing at attention. “God, we’re disgusting. And you’re distracting me,” I admonish. I grab him by the placket of his shirt and peel it off, sucking in a breath.
It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s a mirage in the desert. All cuts and angles and hard lines, every segment of his body chiseled and perfectly defined. He’s a ride I need to hold on to with both hands. His chest is the most expansive surface area I’ve ever seen. I want to drape myself across it sixteen different ways.
“What’s the matter?” he asks when he sees I’m overcome. My breaths are coming out in little huff-pants.
“You. You’re my new personal trainer. How do your shoulders even get this big?”
“All the cow tipping, probably. Though I have a few ideas on how to build your stamina...”
“Mmm, me too.”
I resume my exploration, running my hands down the bare skin of his torso. It’s warm, like every place I’ve ever touched him. I slide lower,fingers splayed out toward his obliques, and squeeze. His sharp intake of breath cracks open my chest.
He brings a hand up to cradle the back of my neck and threads his fingers through my hair. “I’ve thought so much about your hair. What it would feel like...” He brings a handful to his face and does some inhaling of his own, then lets it sift through his fingers like sand.
A tremor shudders through me and I grip his arms to steady myself. His muscles are hard, but his skin is smooth as silk. How can someone be so hard and so soft? What will it feel like to have all this skin on mine?
I smooth my hands down his biceps and triceps, tracing a raised vein from his elbow to his wrist, then vault my hands back to his stomach, trailing my fingertips through the light smattering of hair gathered near his waistband. The hair that leads to the promised land.
He reaches for me. “My turn now.”
I don’t argue. My lips curve in a tiny smile as I remember my surprise and I do a quarter turn, lifting my arms above my head. “The zip’s right here,” I volunteer, peeking up at him from beneath my lashes.
His breathing audibly shallows as he reaches for the zipper at my side, pausing first to sweep my hair over my shoulder. He kisses the nape of my neck and his hot breath ghosts over my spine. A frisson of electricity crackles through me at the realization that I’mfinallygoing to be nude in front of Ben.
He lowers the zipper carefully, taking pains not to snag my skin. His thumb grazes my flesh all the way down, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I work the straps off my shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor and puddle at my feet. I step out of it and stand before him, fully naked save for my emerald green lace panties and heels.
The sound he makes is a garbled grunt, likeunf. He stares at me, lipsparted, eyes feasting on every curve of my body like a man starving. I take a step toward him before he stops me.
“I want to look at you.”
It’s a little like being on display at a museum, the way his eyes devour me like a priceless work of art. No one’s ever looked at me the way he does. I’ve never been particularly brazen, modest in locker rooms and reserved in past relationships, but with Ben I’m like a new person, a woman in every sense of the word. I feel completely uninhibited for the first time in my life. Iwanthim to see every inch of me.
A small eternity passes before he steps forward and tugs me to him by the hips, his large hands spanning my entire waist. In my heels I line up almost perfectly against his groin, and the rock-hard erection that’s tenting his pants strains against my pelvis, heavy and demanding. He slips a finger inside the elastic of my skimpy underwear and my knees quiver.
“You wore these for me.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s running short of air.
