We backed up, both breathing hard.
“Okay,” I said again, thinking. “Sit over there.”
Sam lifted a brow, but his lips went up too. He dropped into the chair in the corner, gripping the armrests like he was buckling in for a ride.
I was going to give him one.
I smoothed my hair back, walking first over to the minibar for some liquid courage. I hadn’t had a drink since before we started talking downstairs. One more wouldn’t hurt. I cracked open a tiny bottle of whiskey. When I tilted it toward him, he shook his head. I tossed it back myself, feeling the burn of the liquor down my throat. I reveled for a brief moment in the instant muscle-melting sensation it gave me.
A plan came into shape in my mind. A thrill went through me just thinking about it.Okay, then.
I reached up and released the top button on my linen blouse.
“Ellie.” Sam’s eyes darkened. He shifted in his seat.
“Sam.” I smiled, a little tipsy with the knowledge that I, too, held some power here. Maybe only a fraction of what he did, seeing as I was the one who hadn’t been touched in a year.
Still, it was something. I undid another button.
“What are you doing, Ms. James?” I was surprised he’d remembered my last name. His voice was playful, but his chest rose with a breath. Then another. I was definitely doingsomethingto him.
“I’m taking off my clothes,” I said, knowing I was being pedantic.
“Should I?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I’m going to get naked, and you’re going to watch. With no touching until I tell you to.”
“Fuckme.”
“If you’re lucky, I might.” Damn, that whiskey really did the trick.
Sam went limp in the chair, flopping his head back. “Shit.”
I paused. “What?”
“I was worried, before, about going too fast. But coming in my pants would be much worse.”
I held back a laugh. “So you don’t want me to take this off?” I undid another button, high on his eagerness.
“No.” He sat back up again, eyes trained on my hands. “Hell no. I’m just warning you. This could get ugly. For me. And you looking at me.”
I didn’t know I could laugh this much while also being this turned on. I took a step toward him, my buttons now low enough to reveal the lace of my bra. Thank God it was a nicer one—black lace, see-through cups.
Sam let out a groan, drawing his hand down between his legs. “You look like the kind of woman I fantasized about when I was a teenager.”
“You fantasized about middle-aged moms?” I reached up to cup my breasts.
Sam’s eyes went liquid. “You’re 35.”
“Pretty close.”
“All the neighborhood boys were obsessed with this one lady on the block, she had these huge?—”
He cleared his throat.
