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He asked, his hands feather-light at the tops of her thighs, “Do we have to take these off for you to get the thong off?”
“Y-yes.” It was all she could manage.
He smiled. It was satisfaction, and it was anticipation, and she shivered, a long, slow, delicious shudder. He watched it happen in the mirror, and then he flicked the fastening, and the stocking came undone. The second one, and then he was standing back and doing the ones at the back. And running a slow hand over the curve of her bottom.
When he dropped to his knees behind her, she sucked in a breath. And when he wrapped one arm around her legs to steady her and took off her shoe with the other hand, she forgot about breathing. The second shoe gone, and he was brushing the stocking down one leg, lifting her foot, and pulling the filmy thing gently off, and doing the other one.
The relief of having the shoes off. Beckett’s hands rubbing over the red marks around her toes, then sliding up her calves, her thighs, her hips, and undoing the hooks fastening the garter belt together. Beckett rising to stand behind her again, starting to undo the hooks at the back of the bustier now. Not seeming in any hurry at all, and she was all but hypnotized, watching her chest rise and fall along with his.
Drift of ribbons and transparent fabric down her body, a whisper of sound as it hit the floor. And she was wearing a thong. Outlined in pink ribbon and tiny flowers, and a cutout on either side, all of it a sort of … innocent sensuality. Not her at all, and exactly the way she felt right now. Like she was brand-new, and she was standing in front of the only man she wanted, needing him to see her. Needing him to want her just as much.
Finally, he said something. “I think we’ll leave this on a while. And the gloves.”
“Oh,” she said. “OK.”
“Also,” he said, “I’ll be back straightaway.”
What?“Beckett …”
“Three minutes,” he said. “Five max. Do, uh … whatever you have to do.”
“You mean like, brush my teeth?” She was confused.
He smiled, slow and wicked. “I was thinking more—pick up the stockings, if you need to. Take off the makeup, if you like. But be on the bed when I come back. Wearing that.”
Oh, boy. The expression on his face … she was way, way,wayout of her comfort zone.
What had she done?
* * *
When he camethrough the door again, he was wearing nothing but shorts. And he had a paper bag with him. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to pretend she was still a butterfly. It wasn’t easy.
He set the bag on the bed and took off the shorts.
Well, yeah. Planes of muscle on his chest, biceps and shoulders on display, the diagonal line along his abs that told you a man was lean enough and strong enough to reveal it, and that skim of hair. Quadriceps. And … everything.
She could have said, “I’m nervous.” She didn’t. She watched him take something out of the bag.
Oh. Two candles and a box of matches. Well, that made sense. She had to admit, though, that she was a tiny bit disappointed.
What had she been expecting? Handcuffs?
He’dsaid…
Because you like dirty talk!That didn’t mean he was going to do any of that! For that matter, if you want it,youcan suggest it! Or go ahead and buy it. You can research it, and …
He set an ivory pillar on each bedside table and struck a match. The smell of sulfur fading away, and something else rising, light and sweet, like vanilla and roses. A hand on the lamp switch, and the light was off, the candlelight flickering against the walls. And she sighed.
He lifted her up onto her knees.
She was trying to get her breath. It wasn’t easy. Because the bag wasn’t empty.
His hands on her breasts, and finally, he was kissing her. His scent all around her, mingling with the vanilla and roses. His hand under her back, lifting her higher, and his mouth there, on her breast, like it was where he needed to be.
“Beckett,” she said. “Please.” And didn’t even realize she’d said it.
His hands on her bottom again now, stroking over them, down her thighs, up them again. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees for me. Knees near the edge of the bed.”
