Her hands finished unbuttoning my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders with a confidence that belied her earlier uncertainty.
I allowed it, curious to see how far she would take this moment of control.
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to my chest, just above my heart. A gesture so unexpectedly tender it stole my breath.
Her hands explored the planes of my torso, learning me with deliberate care.
"You're in excellent shape for a man your age," she murmured, a teasing light in her eyes.
I raised an eyebrow.
"For a man my age?"
"Mmm."
Her nails scraped lightly down my abdomen, sending heat pooling low in my body. "Does that bother you? The reminder that I'm closer to your son's age than yours?"
I caught her hands, holding them still against my stomach.
"Is that what you think this is about? Some mid-life crisis? Proving I can still attract a beautiful young woman?"
"Isn't it?" The question held genuine curiosity beneath the challenge.
"At least partly?"
"No."
I released one of her hands to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"What lies between us has nothing to do with age, Savannah. Nothing to do with my son. It's about recognition. Connection. The inexplicable pull I've felt toward you from the first moment I saw you."
Her breath caught.
"Pretty words."
"I'm not a man who deals in pretty words," I said, voice hardening slightly.
"I deal in truth. In clarity. In getting exactly what I want through direct means."
"And what do you want, Lucas?" Her hand moved lower, palm pressing against the evidence of my desire.
"This?"
I caught her wrist, stilling her exploration.
"That's part of it, yes. But only part."
Before she could respond, I kissed her harder than before, demanding rather than coaxing. She responded immediately, arms winding around my neck as she pressed herself against me, soft curves molding to hard planes.
I lifted her, setting her more fully on the desk, stepping between her thighs as my hands found the hem of her dress.
She helped, raising her hips as I slid the fabric up, revealing the lace beneath. Black, impossibly delicate, clinging to the curves I'd spent days remembering.
Black, like the night we'd met. The memory sent fresh heat coursing through me, my cock hardening painfully against my trousers.
"Second rule," I murmured against her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin.
"Honesty. Always."
