‘My gooey underbelly,’ I asked, pulling his shirt out of his pants and kissing his temple, ‘or my tits?’
‘Honestly,’ he said, kissing the top of my right breast, ‘both.’
‘Even in’ – my breath caught in my throat as his lips brushed over my pulse point, sending a jolt of sensation through me like electricity – ‘those horrible cardigans?’
‘Are you kidding?’ he said. ‘I love those cardigans. You always look so cosy.’
He nipped at my throat with his teeth. ‘I lied to myself for a long time about what this was,’ he said, his voice hot against my skin, ‘but I’ve been dreaming for weeks about pushing those cardigans off your shoulders.’
He looked up at me. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, but that wasn’t all. There was fascination. Captivation. Desperation.
Adoration.
‘No one’s ever looked at me,’ I said, ‘the way that you do.’
His fingertips sketched a gentle line down the side of my face. ‘How’s that?’
‘Like…’ I swallowed. ‘Like I’m worth something.’
He pulled me closer, fingers strong against the back of my neck. ‘Cece,’ he said, pressing his forehead against mine. ‘You’re worth everything.’
Slowly, I slid down until I was kneeling on the floor with him. I reached down and pulled my shirt over my head.
‘Touch me,’ I said.
His breath was shallow as he looked at my body. His hands drifted to my waist, his thumbs stroking against my skin.
‘Harder,’ I said. ‘I’m tough. I won’t break.’
His hands dropped lower and sank into my hips, pulling me into him. He was hard against me; strong, a wall of unyielding muscle.
One by one, I flicked open the buttons on his shirt. I traced my fingers over his pecs, his abs, looped them in his belt as I set my teeth to the place where his neck met his shoulder and bit.
He made a strangled noise, his fingers sinking deeper into my hips. I sucked the skin gently, drew back, blew on it. He groaned, turning his head and closing his lips around my earlobe.
I kissed the mark I’d left on him, hoping it wouldn’t fade. Let wardrobe see it. Let make-up have a crisis about it. Let Murray demand to know where he’d got it.
Mine.
I unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his belt loops, throwing it aside. I shoved his shirt down over his shoulders, but it got caught at his wrists. ‘Fuck,’ he gasped into my hair. ‘Cufflinks.’
We managed to get them undone. The little broken hearts clattered as we dropped them to the ground, his shirt following. He kissed me, hard, as his fingers came up to my bra closure.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked me. ‘This is a terrible idea.’
‘I know it is,’ I said. ‘I don’t care. Take it off.’
He obeyed. I kissed him again, his stubble rough as I caressed the side of his face.
‘Maybe I can’t have you forever, Dylan,’ I said, ‘but we can have tonight.’
13
‘I should go,’ I whispered.
Dylan stroked my hair, brushing the long strands from his chest to behind my ear. ‘I know,’ he said, pressing a kiss to my temple.
Neither of us moved.
