Page 65 of Hats off to Love

He pulls back just a little to look at me. His lips are wet and look utterly delicious. His eyes are dark and dilated, letting me know he’s in complete control. It doesn’t matter what I say to him or how I try to entice him—he’s running this, and he won’t have it any other way.

A small smile tips one side of his mouth. “I haven’t spent this many years undressing you in my mind just to rush through this.” He leans forward, bites my bottom lip, and then releases it with a pop. “We’re going nice and slow, and you will enjoy it. In fact, I’m certain I’ll have you begging for more.”

Two things stick in my mind. The first is him saying he’s mentally undressed me for years—years!—and the second is that I’ll be begging for more. Does that mean there will be more? Oh, how I hope so. Just imagining it sends electricity racing across my skin, my blood heating to near boiling, and my mind turning to a state of delirium. To know someone for so long, and to know so many sides of them . . . though I had no idea of this side: dirty, sexy, intimate.

“Begging for more, huh?” I tease.

“Much more,” he mumbles underneath my ear as he hoists me a little higher and runs his wet mouth down my neck to the swell of my breasts where he sucks on my skin.

The back of my head hits the door, and my eyes slip shut. He takes advantage of my exposed throat and licks his way up it. Meanwhile, my hands find their way to his tie; I pull it back and forth until it comes undone and can be pulled free. I drop it to the floor and move on to the buttons of his shirt. He drags his face across mine, the stubble rough and sensual, until his lips latch onto mine and he lowers my feet to the ground.

When he takes a small step back from me, a rush of cold air replaces his warmth. Stokes is always so put together, and seeing his hair all disheveled, the top of his cheeks flushed, and his shirt partly undone makes me feel like I’m entering a secret club only he and I belong to. No one but me gets to see him this way, and I want to be so close I can crawl inside of him.

He puts his hands on my waist then slides them up my rib cage until he reaches the underside of my breasts. I’m still leaning against the door, and I arch my back as he cups me with both hands and squeezes.

“Perfect,” he murmurs as his thumbs glide back and forth across the tips.

Reaching for him, my fingers tuck under the edge of the waistband of his pants. I pull a little so he comes a step closer and then make quick work of unfastening his belt. There’s something so erotic about removing a man’s belt. It slips through the loops, it joins the tie on the floor, and I watch as his pants slide down a little to settle on his hips. He toes off his shoes then takes me by the hand and leads me to my bedroom.

“I’ve never been in here,” he says as he looks around. The sun is setting so its rays are muted, but neither of us reaches for a light. There isn’t much to my bedroom. I keep it clean, and the shabby furniture is a set. I’ve always loved it. The bed is queen sized, and it has a royal blue velvet pin cushion headboard. It’s a statement piece, and right now it’s telling us both this is where we belong.

“I know. If you had, I probably would have dreamed about it frequently.” I feel a little naughty confessing this to him. After all, we were enemies for years and never meant to be lovers.

His eyes flash to mine. “Did you dream of me, Thorney?” he teases, a pleased wicked grin on his face.

I don’t answer him. Instead, I bend down to remove my boots, dropping each one with a hard thunk.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” he says as he pulls off his socks then stands to his full height and begins to unbutton his shirt. “You can’t even begin to imagine how many nights I’ve dreamed of you.” He pauses and then resumes working on the buttons. “Or mornings, as I took a shower.”

Mentally I take what I know of him, put him in my shower, and make him wet. It’s almost too much for me. I swallow hard and continue to watch him and the buttons. With each one, more of his skin makes an appearance, and I’m not oblivious to the fact that I’m breathing hard. Stokes is getting undressed in my room. He’s going to be naked, and I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

His shirt lands on the floor, leaving him in just his slacks with the band of his black boxer briefs peeking over the top, briefs that are hugging his narrow waist and all the parts of him I’ve never seen but will have after tonight.

Taking a step closer to me, he eyes me like I’m something he cherishes and also something he wants to devour. He pulls the fascinator from my head, slides the denim fabric belt from around my waist, and then moves to the buttons. There are only three, but as his fingertips brush against my skin, I can’t help but tremble. It’s not because I’m nervous, but because I feel like a live wire that’s about to electrically charge the entire room.

Once the buttons are undone, he reaches down, grabs the bottom of the dress, and lifts. It slips over my head, and a few pieces of hair fall loose from the rubber band holding it back. He turns me a little and pulls the band free. My brown hair falls around my shoulders and down to the top of my breasts, breasts that are barely covered with nude lace.

“R-Rosie,” he verbally stumbles. “I have no words for what you do to me. Beautiful.”

A full-body flush starts somewhere in my legs and then climbs higher, ending in my cheeks. I’m so hot for him that I instinctively reach for his pants, undo the button, slide down the zipper, and push on the fabric until it puddles around his feet. He steps out of them and toward me, his mouth descending at the same time his arms wrap around me and pull me closer.

His skin is as hot as mine, and my hands become greedy as they touch as much of him as they can. His strong arms, his back, bump after bump of his ribs and his abs, even the trail of hair that drops beneath the last remaining waistband to what I crave most. I can’t get enough, and apparently neither can he.

Stokes’s hands run over my butt, over my breasts, and around to my back, where he undoes the clasp and watches as my bra drops away. He cups the weight of one breast and lowers his mouth to suck it tenderly then hard. I can’t help the groan that escapes as his hand travels south and runs between my legs. I want him, desperately, and he can feel just how much.

“I want these off,” he says as he gently bites me and pulls on the fabric over my hips.

“You first.” I’m on the verge of panting.

He releases me, and without so much as a smile, just a hunger I know matches mine, he drops his briefs, and I swear my mouth goes dry. There isn’t one part of him that isn’t beautiful. From head to toe, he is perfection.

Clasping the edge of my underwear, I wiggle them down, moving toward him as I step out of them. Should I feel vulnerable being naked with him? Maybe, but I don’t. There is no one in this world who knows me like he does. I trust him implicitly, and given the energy that’s wafting off of him, he does me as well. Without hesitancy, we reach for each other.

Time passes. Minutes, hours, days, months—who knows, who cares. It’s lost meaning as it takes everything in me to stay present in this moment and not float away as he gives me an orgasm with his fingers, with his tongue, and then he’s hovering over me. His weight comes over me and presses me down onto the bed in the most enticing way, and his gorgeous hazel eyes pour gallons of want and desire into my brown ones.

“Birth control?” he whispers, his breath brushing against my lips.

“Yes.” A thousand times, yes.