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“You?” I can’t seem to stop my hands from reaching out, stroking over the hard packed muscles of his shoulders, feeling the ripple beneath my fingertips. “I think you could do anything.”
“I’d do anything foryou, darlin’.”
“Would you?” There’s something new and exciting unfurling inside of me. I’m an actress, so of course I love being the center of attention. But no attention has ever been as intoxicating as Dusty’s. I want to seduce, entice…tease. I want to be an active part of the pleasure he’s giving himself. “Would you let me borrow a shirt for bed?”
“Yes. Yes,” he answers hoarsely. “Anything you want.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, crossing the room to his antique dresser, sliding open the middle drawer, correctly guessing where he keeps his shirts. I select one from the top, laying it out on the surface of the piece of furniture.
And then I start to unzip the side of my bustier. Slowly.
Watching him through my lashes while I expose an inch of flesh at a time, before letting the top drop heavily to the ground, leaving my breasts free. Naked. Pouting.
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing?” Dusty growls, his eyes flaring at the sight of my bare chest, that hand stopping at his balls to massage and twist them.
“Changing for bed,” I say, blinking at him innocently.
“Bianca.” He’s back to stroking now, his fist moving in furious pumps. “I…I’m mighty glad you think I’m a good man. But I ain’t this good, darlin’.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“The devil is trying to take hold of me.” His knees jerk wider, his abdomen flexing intensely with every up and down choke of that dirty fist. “He’s telling me to rip your little skirt off and see what’s underneath.”
Shouldn’t I be nervous now?
Shouldn’t I be alarmed?
Yes. But I’m not. That confession only makes me hotter.
More determined to stay. To…play.
I want to give this man what he deserves. But I like the way he respects my boundaries, too. Actually…that might be my favorite part. Setting limits and having them honored.
“I’ll let you rip my skirt off,” I murmur, sauntering toward him slowly, not stopping until I’m just within reach. “But once it’s off, you’re only allowed to kiss me once. Then we have to stop.”
His face is feverish, sweaty, the wide breadth of his chest plummeting up and down. “Kiss you where, Bianca?”
“Anywhere you want. But you only get one kiss.”
He groans up at the ceiling, liquid bubbling up from the slit of his sex. “Anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Even your mouth?”
“Yes.”
His jaw slackens, like he can’t believe his luck. “Even your…” His exhale is long and rocky. “Even your cunt?”
I moan brokenly over his use of that word. It’s so out of character. This man is forthright and righteous, and he just referred to my flesh in the crudest manner possible. Somehow, though, it only serves to make that part of me damp. I’m so damp, I realize.
When did that happen?
“Even there,” I manage, swaying on my feet. “Anywhere you want.”
