“I’m a mess,” I said.
“You’re perfect.”
He tugged his dripping coat from my shoulders and then reached for the hem of my shirt and peeled it up over my head with aching slowness. The fabric clung to my skin, reluctant to release me, and Graham’s knuckles brushed against my ribcage as he worked it free.
I shivered, and not from the cold.
The clothes hit the floor with a wet splat. Graham’s eyes dropped to my breasts, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
I glanced down and almost groaned. Of course I had my basic everyday bra on. It was nothing special—plain white cotton, practical rather than pretty—but it had gone sheer in the rain, the fabric clinging to my breasts, my nipples clearly visible through the wet material.
But Graham stared at me like I was wearing the finest silk and lace.
“Agnes.” My name came out reverent, almost pained. “God, look at you.”
He reached out and traced one finger along the edge of my bra, following the curve of the fabric where it met my skin. My breath caught. Such a simple touch, barely there, and yet it sent ripples of lust throughout my body.
“I’ve craved this,” he said softly, his finger continuing its slow exploration. “Just this. These moments where it’s just you and me, the outside world forgotten.” His finger dipped beneath the fabric, brushing theupper swell of my breast. “I fantasized about putting that look on your face again.”
I gasped as his finger found my nipple, hard from both the cold and his touch, and I shivered as he thumbed it gently, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What look?” I asked, arching into his hand.
“The one that says no man can bring you pleasure the way that I can.” He wasn’t wrong.I’d tried on a few occasions, but without the connection I’d had with Graham, the act had been merely scratching an itch. Even when I’d been lying to myself, a part of me had always known that no person would love me like Graham.
He reached around me and unclasped my bra with practiced ease. It fell away, and the cool air hit my bare breasts, making my nipples tighten further.
Graham’s breath left him in a rush.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “Absolutely perfect.”
My breasts weren’t large, I fell more into the pert and perky category, but Graham’s reaction to them made me feel like they were exactly right. Forhim. He cupped them in his hands, gentle, reverent, looking for all the world like a man about to worship. Bending forward, he pressed a soft kiss directly between them both, and I gasped at the contact, needing more of him.
“Graham?” I murmured.
“Aye, lass?”
“I need?—”
My words cut off as he turned his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
The sound I made was embarrassing, a high, keening crythat I couldn’t have held back if I’d tried. His mouth was hot against my cold skin, his tongue swirling around the tight peak, and I grabbed his shoulders to keep myself upright.
“Graham—”
He didn’t answer. Just switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, while his fingers continued to work the first. He licked and sucked and gently bit, and I dissolved into a trembling mess under his touch.
“Please,” I heard myself say. “Please, I need?—”
“What do you need?” He looked up at me, his mouth wet, his eyes dark. “Tell me, Agnes. I’ll give you anything.”
“More. I need more.” No, it wasn’t the most articulate of demands, but I could barely think my own name at this point. My body trembled with need, with years of pent-up lust, and being articulate had suddenly become an almost insurmountable task.
He smiled—slow and wicked—and sank to his knees.
His fingers found the button of my jeans and worked it free. The zipper followed, and then he was peeling the wet denim down my legs, his lips pressing kisses to each inch of skin he revealed. My hip. My thigh. The delicate skin at the inside of my knee that had shivers dancing across my skin. The curve of my calf.
By the time he got my jeans and shoes off—a process complicated by the wet fabric and my shaking legs—I was ready to combust.
