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Hard same.
She kissed him softly and he kept as still as possible. “Please?”
His blood was a freight train, ramming through his body to one central point. He locked eyes with her. “Part of me wants to say hell yes, while the other part demands I retain some dignity and say let’s wait until I can participate more.”
She traced a single finger along the skin above the collar of his shirt, raising goose bumps across his skin. “Which part is winning?”
“Right now it’s about seventy-thirty in favor of fucking.”
She arched her back and shifted her hips. “How about now?”
He groaned, unable to keep his eyes open as desire hit him like a spear through his midsection. “Ninety-ten.”
Claire straightened, which put more pressure on his groin and forced a heavy breath through his lips. She met his gaze steadily and reached up to slowly undo the buttons at the top of her dress. “I think I can convince that last ten percent.”
His voice was low, gravelly. “Please do.”
She pursed her lips as if to stop from smiling, probably trying to keep the sultry look going. Surely she knew he wanted her either way, right? He’d been dying to finally arrive at this moment, like a kid in the back of the car on his way to Disneyland.
Did other men really not see how incredible she was?
He wanted her serious, laughing, teasing, bickering. He’d take them all at once or one at a time, savoring each shade and facet of her personality.
Current Claire—determined, confident, maybe projecting a little anger from her failed date—was sexy as hell. He was always happy to step up and ensure a woman knew how attractive she was and how much he wanted her, but he also loved when a woman went after what she wanted.
Her progress was achingly slow, the movement of her fingers tantalizing as she popped the tiny buttons from the holes, revealing more of her gorgeous body with each one.
“Touch me,” she said, eyes still on his. She knew she was turning him on—there was no way she couldn’t feel that—and knowing Claire, she basked in the knowledge and control it gave her. But a tiny hint of vulnerability in her expression told him maybe a small part of her needed that in this moment.
“You’re bossy tonight.” His back and head still against the headboard, Graham slid his palms up her smooth thighs and underneath the fabric of her skirt.
She was almost to midstomach and the dress gaped open at the top. His hands moved around to cup her ass and he pulled her closer at the same time he sat forward, and Claire abandoned the buttons as their chests connected. Simultaneous sighs escaped their lungs and in the split second before their lips met, Claire whispered, “I’m always bossy.”
Their mouths came together with ease and familiarity. Claire tugged at his shirt and he pulled back long enough for her to pull it over his head, then their lips met again. In seconds her dress pooled around her waist and her bra was tossed to the floor. Feeling her warm skin against his was like heaven.
Scooting her hips as close to his as they would go, Claire wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed. Her arms wound around his back and her lips went to his neck, and he was in a cocoon of warm, soft, delicious-smelling woman.
This, right here, was one of the best experiences of Graham’s existence.
“Don’t move,” he murmured. “Can we just stay like this all the time?”
“Exactlylike this?” she teased, her breath against his neck.
“Well, maybe one or two parts could be rearranged. If you could just lift up a little, I could...”
She laughed, shifting sideways to shimmy out of her underwear. She settled back down, kissing her way up his rough jaw and meeting his lips for a deep kiss. His body heat rose with each touch, his skin like an inferno poised to set the room on fire.
Tracing his lips along the shell of her ear, he relished the way she trembled in his arms and whispered the things he would do to her if he could. With a moan that signaled she was getting to the end of her rope, she lifted up on her knees and wedged her hand between their bodies, working his zipper as he reached out to fumble blindly in the top drawer of his bedside table.
Seconds later, Graham was groaning into her hair, wondering if this thing with Claire might be the thing that healed him, or if he’d end up broken in even more pieces than before.
“I’m not a big fan of calling it fucking.”
Claire was draped over his chest as he traced figure eights along her bare back.
“No?”
“No. It sounds so crass to me.”
