“Okay, I think I’m officially not destined for musical greatness.”
I smirk, taking it from her and setting it behind us, cushioned between two pillows.
“Maybe not,” I say, “but you look damn good trying.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
And then she shifts, just slightly, and her cardigan slips.
That soft, cream fabric falls down her shoulder, revealing the thin strap of her dress and the curve of her collarbone. That collarbone—delicate and defined, like it was carved just to undo me.
I reach out before I can stop myself, and I brush my fingers lightly across it, just once. A slow, languid trace. Her skin is warm from the fire, smooth beneath my touch, and I feel her breath catch.
Then before I get lost in the moment, in her. I gently pull the cardigan back up, settling it over her shoulder like I’m tucking something sacred away.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” I say, voice low. “Every time I’ve noticed it slip, but I’ve had to force myself not to.”
She turns to me, lips parted slightly. And I know she feels it too, this quiet, burning thing between us. I don’t move. I just let the moment settle, and I let her see it in my eyes. Because this isn’t about rushing. It’s about showing her just how unbelievable she is, how much worth she has, and how much she has changed me, just by letting me in.
Her eyes are locked on mine, and her beautiful face is open, searching, like she’s trying to read every unspoken word behind my gaze.
And then she kisses me. No hesitation. No slow build.
Just her mouth on mine, real, desperate, and so damn full of emotion.
Her hands slide up the back of my head, and her fingers thread through my hair, and then she’s climbing into my lap, straddling me like she’s done holding back. It’s like she’s pouring everything into it: the laughter, the longing, the quiet ache we’ve been dancing around for weeks.
We’ve kissed before but this … this is different. Its needy. It’s her finally letting herself feel.
My hands find her waist, and I kiss her back, just as hungrily, just as undone.
She traces my lips with her tongue, bites, and pulls at my bottom lip.
This sweet, sexy, reserved British woman, is now a needy little thing burning hot in my grip. She pulls my head back with one hand, the other is tangled in my hair, and her body is grinding against mine like she can’t get close enough.
When she feels my hard cock press against her core, she practically melts. She gasps and moves a hand to my chest, clutching at the fabric of my shirt as my hands explore her body, sliding beneath her dress to settle on her ass. Her perfect, curvy ass.
I pull her closer, harder, needing her to feel every inch of me.
Her grip tightens, knuckles white against my shirt.
“Ford …” she breathes between hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“God, Ford …”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her lips.
“Just let go. I’m right here.”
But then she pulls away, breathless, eyes shining with something wild. Her lips are swollen and beautiful, her chest rising like she’s just surfaced for something more than air. Like she’s suddenly realised something.
“Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she asks, voice low, electric.
I blink, still reeling. Thrown by the sudden shift, aching to have her mouth back on mine.
“Uh … no?”
She climbs off me, pulls off her boots, stands tall, and shrugs off her cardigan, tossing it beside me. My eyes widen. Does she want to …
