“No talking.” She steps back, reaching for the zipper on her dress. “We’ve done enough talking.”
The dress pools at her feet.
And every coherent thought I have evaporates.
She’s standing in front of me in black lace and heels, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had, and I’m frozen, just staring.
“Carter?” A hint of uncertainty creeps into her voice. “Say something.”
“You’re perfect,” I manage. “Absolutely perfect.”
A smile curves her lips. “Your turn.”
I shrug out of my jacket, loosen my tie. She steps forward, taking over, her fingers working the buttons of my shirt with a confidence that makes my pulse race.
When the shirt hits the floor, her hands slide over my chest, tracing scars, muscles, the evidence of seventeen years of football.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs.
I catch her hand. “I’m scarred and broken and—”
“Beautiful.” She kisses the scar on my shoulder from a surgery two years ago. Then the one on my ribs from a brutal hit in my rookie year. “Every single part of you.”
I pull her close, skin to skin, and the contact is electric. She sighs against my mouth, and I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist.
“Bedroom?” she asks.
“Upstairs. First door.”
I carry her up, kissing her the whole way, and when I lay her on my bed, she looks up at me with so much trust, so much want, it nearly undoes me.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I say, even though it would kill me.
“I’m not changing my mind.” She pulls me down. “Make love to me, Carter.”
Her words hit harder than any tackle I’ve ever taken.
I lower myself over her, bracing on my elbows so our bodies touch just enough to make her breath catch. Her fingers slide into my hair, guiding my mouth back to hers, and the moment our lips meet, something inside me gives way.
The kiss deepens, slow at first, until her soft gasp sparks something hotter.
Her hands skim down my back, tracing the lines of muscle like she’s memorizing me by touch alone. Every glide of her fingertips sends a shiver through me, tugging me closer, deeper.
I trail kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips.
Her legs tighten around my waist, drawing me in until there’s barely any space left between us.
“Carter…” she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly ruins me.
My hands explore her slowly, her waist, the curve of her hip, the warm skin beneath me. She arches into me, meeting every touch like she’s been waiting for it… for me.
I kiss her again, hungry now, but trying to hold onto whatever restraint I have left, my thumb brushes her cheek, my forehead resting against hers when we finally pause for air.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmur, breathless.
Her smile is soft, certain.
“Carter… it’s perfect.”
