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To hell with him being my boss. To hell with him being 12 years my senior and a stranger.
I’ve never felt such an easy connection with anyone.
“H-how about Three Fates Games?” I stutter when Dean pulls away from the kiss, my breath coming in quick, excited bursts.
“Like the three sisters but brothers. I get it,” he says, dipping his head back down for another kiss as he smooths his hand under the hem of my shirt, palming my stomach. I shiver at the touch, though his hand is warm. The memory of what we did barely an hour ago is making me wild for more.
It’s not the best idea for a name change, but he doesn’t laugh or swat it away.
His hand travels up my ribs, caressing my skin as I arch into him.
My hands, meanwhile, can’t get enough of his broad chest, corded neck, and hard stomach. Dean groans into my mouth.
“Put your arms around my neck so I have room to touch you.”
“But what if I want to touch you first?”
“Do I need to pin your wrists?”
“Not that old up-against-the-wall move,” I tease.
A low hum vibrates in his chest. “You’re right,” he says, reaching low to grip my thighs. Before I gather what’s happening, my legs are hooked around his hips and he’s carrying me across the room. “We need a bed.”
I brace myself for a mattress-on-the-floor situation because I know the kind of guys my sister Rebel has dated before. Man-boys with elaborate game systems but no furniture. Not that I care. Dean is anything but a man-boy. I’ve never known anyone like him before.
The most important thing is how he makes me feel when I’m around him. He makes me feel like a queen. If that changes? I’m out the door.
And who cares what his room looks like? I close my eyes and let the moment wash over me.
The bed itself is ridiculously comfortable as Dean lowers me gently onto my back. My body thrills at every touch as he peppers my mouth and throat with small, teasing kisses. Meanwhile, his hand snakes higher under my shirt, cupping my breast.
I let out an embarrassing little squeak as his touch brushes over one achy, puckered nipple.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my eyes still shut, my hands searching his wide torso, taking in the feel of all that coiled strength under the soft T-shirt. “It’s just been…a while.”
The warmth of his presence disappears then. For a second, I think I just scared him off, but when my eyes open, it’s to find him backing away to remove his shirt. I stare, transfixed, at the movement of all the small muscles bunching as he reaches back and tugs the material off over his head.
I sit up to watch, eager to touch all that skin, hardly believing this is happening. That I’m allowed to touch this man.
Quickly, I remove my T-shirt and chuck it to the floor, mentally noting that not only am I in a real bed, off the floor, but there are also curtains in here and a dresser. Not even a floor-drobe.
“How old are you?” I ask without thinking.
He laughs. “Hopefully that’s not a comment on my old man body. I’m 35.”
I rest one socked foot on his chest and push him away from me playfully. “Old man body? Seriously? Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
Dean laughs, but then his gaze grows heated as he backs away to slowly remove the sock on that foot, then presses his thumb into the arch, massaging the muscles there.
I let out a long moan.
“Let it out, baby.”
“Where did you learn to massage like that?” I ask. “Was it Kim?”
I regret it as soon as I say it, worried now that I’ve ruined the mood.
