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‘Could we close the blinds?’ she said as he closed the door behind them.
He cradled her cheek, a wry smile reaching his eyes. ‘The windows are treated; no one can see in. And anyway, we’re thirty-one floors up.’
‘It’s not that.’
His brows lifted in quizzical enquiry, forcing her to spell it out.
‘Last time we did this it was darker.’ And she’d had a lot less to hide. ‘I’m not used to men...to anyone seeing me naked.’
* * *
The unfamiliar pang of tenderness struck Lukas—not just at her request, which made him all the more aware of her inexperience—but at the bravery with which she delivered it, despite the quiver of uncertainty.
Damn, what the hell am I going to do with you, Bronte?
She was so much more than he had expected. And so much sweeter, and hotter, and more straightforward than he was used to.
Which made her vulnerable in ways he had never considered.
He’d accepted he would have to be careful with her, that he would have to keep his more basic and elemental desires on lockdown until she got used to being in his bed. Which was why he hadn’t given into the desire to rip her clothes off the minute she’d asked. But until this moment he hadn’t considered anything beyond their sexual connection. She’d been so strong and independent up till now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that the responsibility not to hurt her, not to take too much, went way beyond the physical.
The thought disturbed him. He’d never had this responsibility before, never wanted it.
But, unfortunately, as she stood before him and he noticed for the first time how slender she was, how small and fragile compared to him, he knew backing away now wasn’t an option. The ache in his groin spiked, as if to remind him and get his libido back on track.
He quelled the desire to suggest they keep the shades up just because he wanted to see every inch of her succulent flesh while he devoured it.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and opened the app which controlled the apartment’s electronics. Then adjusted the shades. The glow of the setting sun dimmed but did nothing to take away the golden quality of the light on her skin. Not quite ready to give up the game completely, he brought the lights up a fraction because while he was willing to make adjustments for her shyness, he wasn’t about to make love to her in the dark. The concession felt worth it though, when the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed.
‘Okay?’ he asked as he flung his phone on the dresser.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and he couldn’t help it, he laughed, breaking at least a little of the tension mounting in the room, her studied politeness striking him as comical.
‘Did I say something funny?’ she said, dismayed.
He placed a hand on her butt to anchor her to him and chuckled again. That had to be another first, he thought vaguely. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed during sex. Sex was usually a serious business for him—a bargain struck between two consenting adults to achieve sexual satisfaction—but with her it felt spontaneous, joyful, fun in a way it never had before.
‘No,’ he said as he concentrated on unbuttoning her shirt and dragging it off her shoulders.
‘Then why are you laughing?’ she said, sounding a little defensive.
The shirt dropped to the floor and he sobered, the rush of heat obliterating everything else. The stiff peaks of her breasts were clearly visible through her tank and bra, her breaths making her curves more abundant.
He moistened his lips, the desire to feel those ripe nipples stiffen against his tongue drying his mouth. Hooking his forefinger into the belt of her jeans, he tugged her closer, close enough to strip off the tank and release the hook on her bra.
‘I’m not laughing any more,’ he murmured, breaking the strained silence as he dragged down the thick cotton straps, discarded the bra and cupped the heavy flesh in his palms.
He rubbed his thumbs over the resilient peaks then plucked and played, learning the shape and texture of her and gauging her reaction. He revelled in her unguarded response, the broken sobs as her nipples swelled and hardened.
Her eyes glazed with stunned passion, her back arching in instinctive invitation. He bent to drag one straining tip into his mouth.
She pushed into his mouth as he feasted on the sweet taste of her desperation. His fingers became urgent as he fumbled with her belt, popped open the buttons on her fly and eased her jeans over slim hips.
She held his head, her fingers gripping his hair as he continued the sharp suction on her breast and pressed the heel of his palm to her core over damp cotton. She bucked against his hold but he ignored her startled breath, the sultry spice of her arousal filling his nostrils as he slid his fingers beneath her panties and found the plump, swollen folds of her sex.
She was soaking wet, his fingers gliding against the stiff button of her clitoris with ease.
He stroked over it and around it, teasing her, testing her, her shuddering response as she charged towards orgasm making his erection strain so hard against his fly he was surprised it didn’t rip open his pants.
