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I answer him with a kiss more syrupy sweet than raw honey.
“Now that it’s settled, do you want to go out for breakfast or should I order something here?” he asks.
At some point, my gaze falls to his lips. “If you have a stocked kitchen, I could cook for you.”
“You cook?” His head cocks adorably.
“Duh. It’s an art form.” My eyes are still focused on those full lips that moved over my body last night.
He leans down and kisses me. “I’m not sure how stocked the kitchen is, but let’s find out.”
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again. He meets my lips. The kiss comes long, slow, and entirely obsessed.
“Paige, last night—”
Oh my God. Worry bleeds into my eyes. He’s going to tell me it was a mistake, and it can never happen again. I mean, I get it, but...
“Yes?”
“Are you sore?” He beams the world’s wickedest smile.
Wardhole. I should’ve known. He only mentioned it to humiliate me.
“Why would I be?” I throw back, jabbing my nose in the air.
His low, gravelly snort is shameless.
He pulls the lace of the very loosely tied corset. My dress falls. And my cheeks are on fire when I dive into his hungry dark eyes.
“Because if you’re sore, I can soothe you. If you’re not, we didn’t go at it hard enough, and I’m a man who fixes his mistakes.”
His bravado makes me snicker.
“You make mistakes, bossman?” I narrow my eyes and grin.
He combs a hand through my hair. “Let me make it up to you for coming too fast last night.”
That was fast? What the what? Half-hour jackhammer sessions where he almost spun me inside freaking out?
My body was ready to explode.
And that body gets swallowed by his gaze a second later when he says, “You’re not wearing panties.”
Someone’s bravado evaporates. I bite my lip.
“Um, yeah, couldn’t find them.”
His grin shrinks me into the floor. “Should I make it up to you, then?”
My face gets hot. “Believe me, you did nothing wrong, Ward. I...I floated.”
“Floated?” he repeats.
I close my eyes, my lips wavering.
“I never floated before. Not even once. Not with anyone else.”
It’s a hard thing to admit I’ve never come before with a man. But when your dating life consists of one incredibly selfish ex plus a few Tinder boys who could stand to revisit She Comes First 101, it’s easy to wind up deprived.
He’s quiet for a minute, then says, “Oh. Oh, shit.”
Like some big revelation just occurred.
I mean, it did for me, considering I’m here naked in front of a man who mauls me with every glance.
I’m suddenly feeling too bare and start reaching for my dress.
“What are you doing?”
My fingers grasp the cloth, and I start pulling it up. “I just...I need to have this talk a little less—bare?” It comes out like a question.
His eyes blaze.
Then he pulls the dress up for me, scoops me up in his arms like a bride, and sits us on the couch.
“If you were floating, Paige, then I’ve been on cloud damn nine since the evening I came to your rescue,” he whispers. “That whole stupid tried-to-get-you-fired-thing aside, of course.”
Damn, Ward. Go right ahead and make this as embarrassing as possible.
“You’re—God, I’ve told you you’re perfect. My hormones got the best of me that night when you white knighted me. You weren’t wrong to wonder about me,” I say.
“You know what I think?”
“That I was drunk and reckless and totally willing to have a one-night stand?” None of which is actually wrong, and the only thing that is might be the fact that if I were a guy, it would all be completely acceptable.
He smiles. “I think a woman who’s never floated before needs to be airborne. And once she’s mastered the art of floating, it’s time for her to soar.”
Holy Hannah.
I can’t look at him for more than a too-hot second. Not if I want to believe he’s just talking about sex, and he totally isn’t looking at me like a man who cares. Deeply.
He lifts my head off his lap, stands, then kneels in front of the couch on his knees.
“Ward, what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
His hands cup my legs, pulling them forward. He’s arranged me in some weird seated position, but my bottom barely touches the couch. His lips start at my calf, intent on destruction, gradually inching up my leg.
“What on earth are you doing?” I ask again.
But more of those slow-burn kisses on the side of my knee are the only answer I get, right before he traces the bend with his tongue.
A rough giggle falls out of me.
“You...you don’t need to—”
One fierce growl against my skin indicates what he needs.
Oh, sweet heaven.
His head swoops under my dress, hidden by folds of pale-blue gauze. His lips roam the side of my knee again before he looks up, pinning me to the seat with gas fires for eyes.
