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“Too quick,” I grumble, thinking of the perfunctory kisses I got from Brad to foreshadow our lovemaking, even at the beginning of our relationship. “I always thought it was me.”
“I really don’t like those guys,” he tells me with a frown before he brushes his lips against mine, once, twice. “Should I mention that I’m also an A plus in kissing?”
“I’d rather you show me.”
“I’m at your service. But first—” He pushes the sheet covering me further down and surveys my dress. My favourite dress. I found it in a vintage shop in Kensington Market, and while it might have been fashionable before I was born, it makes me feel good to wear it. It makes my chest look amazing, plus it sorts the curves into places where there should be curves.
“It’s very wrinkled,” Mase says. “It may not recover from you napping in it.”
“I didn’t have any other choice since my things are in my room. On another floor. Along with my toothbrush.”
“I gave you a toothbrush.”
“I guess you did,” I say shyly.
“The dress—it’s really not my favourite,” Mase announces.
What…?
“I’ve been looking at you wearing it all night, how it hugs here—” —he smooths the fabric over my hip— “and here.” His finger skims the side of my breast and I suck in my breath at the touch. “But I can’t really figure out how to get you out of it.”
“You don’t like my dress because you don’t know how to take it off?”
“You look amazing in it. But now that you’re, you know, married to me, I’d really like to see what you look like out of it.” He grins. “Who am I trying to kid? I wanted to see you out of it the second I saw you in line.”
“I think that’s you trying to be sweet?”
“And a little sexy. I’m a little off my game, due to the unforeseen situation in the washroom.”
“Also, the early hour?”
“Not at all. I’m very good in the mornings.”
He fumbles with my bottom button. There are six, covered in the same green fabric, starting just below my ribs all the way up to my throat. I leave the top two unbuttoned, only needing a couple more to pull the dress over my head. I’ve never used the bottom button, so it’s not surprising Mase has trouble undoing it.
Just as I’m about to take over, the button pops off in his hand. “Uh oh.”
“You broke my dress!”
He holds up the button with a sheepish grin. “Just this part of it.”
“You’re going to have to sew that back on for me.”
“Yeah.” The grin turns a little rueful. “There might be a problem with that.”
My laughter cuts off as Mase unbuttons another, this one much more easily. A pale triangle of skin appears, and he strokes it with a lazy finger. “A little help might be nice. Is there a hidden zipper? I don’t know whether to go up or down with it.”
Another button pops and the stroking continues. “So, you don’t hate my dress?” I ask, desperately trying to calm my breathing. Should I be this excited from Mase undoing my buttons?
It’s not even a very sexy dress. It’s green. A bright, kelly green that goes great with my hair, but no man has ever commented on my sex appeal while I was wearing it.
Mase doesn’t have to comment because he’s showing me exactly what he thinks.
And it feelswonderfulto be considered sexy and appealing but I’m also freaking out a little at the determination in his expression mixed with what I think is desire…
“Of course I don’t really hate it. I don’t think I could hate anything you wear.”
“I have a unicorn onesie I sleep in. It’s very warm.”
