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“Just getting you off your feet after a long shift.”
“Is that it? Most men would’ve gone for the romantic sweep instead of the over-the-shoulder.”
“I’m not most.”
“So I’ve noticed. You know, your house looks good even upside down.”
He carted her to the bedroom, where the light came from cloud-misted stars and a three-quarter moon. And dumped her on the bed, covered her with his body.
“How do you like it now?”
“I’ve grown fond of this particular view.”
As she studied him and he studied her, she ran her hands down his back, then up again.
“I like mine better.” Eyes still on hers, he brushed her mouth with the lightest kiss. “You’ve got a face.”
“I definitely have a face.”
“It’s a damn good face.” Now his mouth brushed hers, lingered a little longer. “I thought so the first time I saw it.”
“Behind the bar.”
“No, the first time. At your grandfather’s memorial.”
“Oh. I don’t think I saw you. Honestly, I’m not sure I saw anyone. It’s one big blur.”
“Everything showed on that face. The grief, the guilt, the wish you could go somewhere else, anywhere else, alone and deal with it. And I remember I wondered if I saw that because I felt exactly the same.”
He kissed her again, just a little deeper, just a little longer.
“The next time I saw that face, and that was behind the bar, I saw something else. Something under the friendly, efficient bartender.”
He switched to the pulse in her throat, pleased to feel it start to race. “I saw grit mixed with vulnerability. Just fascinating, that face. I like seeing it when I’ve got my hands on you.”
“I want your hands on me.”
He closed his over hers and used his mouth, just his mouth, to arouse.
“They’ll get there.”
He released one hand to flip open the buttons of her shirt, then slowly followed that gap down with his mouth, then roamed up again.
This time the kiss spun out and out and out until he felt her go lax.
He hadn’t taken enough time with her, he thought, not with the late nights, early mornings. Now he would.
He flipped open the front hook on her bra, the deeply cut white lace he knew she wore for him. And trailed his fingers over her, light, light, light, while his tongue skimmed over hers, while her hum of pleasure spilled into him.
And he looked as he took that time with the crisp uniform, the black and the white in disarray. With her skin trembling under his mouth and hands, aroused.
As he eased her zipper down, his mouth took her breast, but gently, gently. No rush, no hurry as his fingers slid down to tease, only to tease even as she arched up against them, even as the hum in her throat became broken sighs.
As he traveled down her, sliding those trim pants over her hips, pressing his lips to her belly, he found it unspeakably erotic to be fully dressed while he peeled those layers away from a body that shuddered with need under him.
He took her up, watching her—that face—as he met those needs. She quaked under him, shuddering, just as the first flash of lightning turned the room white, and on one of her broken sighs came his name.
Thunder followed after.
