“Good,” I say.
“Are you done?” she asks.
The corner of my mouth moves. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”
She reaches up, pulls the dress over her head in one movement, drops it on the floor, and that’s the last thought I give to anything that isn’t the woman in front of me.
She’s wearing nothing underneath it.
Her dark hair against olive skin and those dark eyes on mine, she’s completely comfortable in her own body, the way only certain women are, aware of exactly what she is and entirely uninterested in pretending otherwise. Her body is extraordinary, with full breasts, the curve of her waist pulling into her hips, legs that go on considerably longer than is fair. She stands there, letting me look because she knows what looking does to a man, and she’s never once been shy about using it.
Standing from the bed, I cross to her and take her face in both hands and kiss her, not slow, not gentle, nothing careful about it. She makes a sound against my mouth, and her hands go immediately to my shirt, fingers working the buttons fast, pushing it off my shoulders and running her palms flat across my chest and down over my stomach.
Her fingers find my belt.
She works it open with the particular efficiency of a woman who has done this before and has no patience for anything that stands between her and what she wants—the buckle, the button, and the zip. When she pushes my jeans down over my hips and wraps her hand around me, I’m already hard, my cock thick and heavy against her palm, and she lets out a low, satisfied breath against my jaw.
“There he is,” she says.
“Told you I missed you.”
She laughs, low and warm, and I walk her backward until the backs of her knees catch the edge of the bed, and she goes down onto it, pulling me with her. I settle my weight over her and take a moment to look at her, dark hair spread across thepillow, chest rising fast, and lips parted before my mouth finds her throat and starts moving south.
Her fingers are threaded into my hair by the time I reach her chest, her back arching into me, a low sound escaping before she can decide whether to let it. I take my time there, my hands moving over the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips while she shifts beneath me with a particular impatience that I have absolutely no intention of rewarding.
Moving lower, I drag my mouth across her ribs and her flat stomach, and when I press her hips firmly back to the mattress, she lets out a frustrated grunt.
“Please,” she says, direct and low. Raven has never been a woman who has any interest in making a man work for what she can ask for.
My mouth finds the inside of her thigh, and I feel the full body shiver that moves through her, and when I finally give her what she’s been asking for, she’s already slick against my tongue, warm and wet. As I circle her clit slowly, the moan that escapes her lips travels right down to my cock, making it harder than it already is.
Keeping her still while I suck her clit into my mouth, she’s so wet that the sounds of it fill the quiet room. Her thighs press against my shoulders, and her fingers tighten almost painfully in my hair. She’s close.
“Tate,” she breathes out, her whole body pulling tight.
I don’t stop.
She breaks hard, her back arching clean off the mattress, a sharp cry that she doesn’t bother to swallow, and her thighs lock against me as the orgasm moves through her in long, shuddering waves. I keep going until every last tremor has worked its way out of her, and she goes loose and heavy against the mattress.
Giving her exactly two seconds, I don’t waste time and move back up her body, pull her hips toward me, and when I pushinside her, she gasps, sharp and immediate. Her body stretches to take me, tight, slick, and perfect, her nails dragging down my back hard enough to sting.
There’s no tenderness in it, no whispered words or gentle hands, nothing emotionally complicated about any of it. It’s just heat, friction, and the particular urgency of two people who want the same uncomplicated thing and are taking it without apology.
Moving with her in the dark, her legs lock around me, and her mouth at my shoulder, I feel the last weeks finally start to dissolve—New York, the drive-by, Sophia’s voice breaking at the other end of the line. All of it goes quiet, pushed back by the sound of her, the warmth of her skin, and the particular mercy of not having to think.
She comes a second time with her face pressed hard into my neck, her whole body shaking through it. I follow her over with my jaw set and my forehead against her shoulder, every last muscle in me finally letting go.
Afterward, she lies on her back beside me, her breathing evening out, staring at the ceiling, not reaching for me or looking for something in my expression. She knows better than that, which is the thing about Raven. She understands exactly what this is, and she has never once asked it to be anything else.
At least not out loud.
She sits up after a while, reaches for her dress, then places her hand flat against my chest, feeling the tension there without saying a word about it, before leaning in and pressing her lips to mine, slowly and certainly, like she has all the time in the world.
And at least for tonight, I let myself stop thinking.
Chapter Six
TATE
