“Have you now?”
“Mm-hmm. Been thinking about taking it off you since the second you stepped onto that balcony.”
“So, what’s stopping you now?”
“Not a damn thing.”
I pulled at the tie, my gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes went darker, lips parted slightly—her nervous energy shifting into hunger.
The dress loosened and I slid it off her shoulders carefully. The fabric pooled at her feet and every thought in my head stuttered to a complete stop.
Black lace over blush mesh—the strapless bra managed to look both structural and delicate. Matching panties with wide lace at her hips. The pattern intricate and feminine against her pale freckled skin, showing off every curve I’d wanted to put my hands on all evening.
Her tattoo sat just above the edge of the bra—vibrant colors against her skin. Fire and rebirth and strength, right over her heart.
Fuck. She was stunning.
“You wore this...” my voice was wrecked. “Under that dress. All night.”
“I did,” she nodded with a pleased expression.
I couldn’t form words—could barely form thoughts. Just stood there staring at her while blood rushed south.
“Finn?” She moved toward me, resting her hands on my chest again. “Say something?”
“Sweetheart.” I managed to get my hands moving—traced the lace edge of her bra with my fingertips. Delicate pattern under rough calluses. The contrast made something hot twist in my gut. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Good?”
“So damn good.” I looked up, met her eyes. “You have any idea what you do to me?”
“I have some idea,” she smirked.
“No,” I brought her against me, let her feel exactly how hard I was. “You really don’t. But I’d like to show you. First though, you’re gonna help me out of these clothes. Fair’s fair.”
She was already reaching for my shirt. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She took her time. Fingers separating every snap carefully, her knuckles brushing my chest as she went. When she pushed the shirt off my shoulders, her hands traced over scarred skin. The burn tissue on my left side, the surgical scars, the ropy ridges and smooth patches.
Her fingers were bold but gentle. And when her mouth followed, something inside me cracked open.
“Every part of you,” she whispered against my skin. “I want every part of you.”
I closed my eyes, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
When I opened them again, she was on her knees, working on my belt. She got it unbuckled, the button of my jeans undone, zipper down. I toed off my boots while she pushed the denim down my legs.
Left me in boxer briefs and nothing else.
She sat back on her heels and looked up at me, resting her hands on my thighs, warm and steady.
“You’re beautiful,” she smiled.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s my line.”
“Can’t help it if it’s true,” her thumbs traced small circles against my skin. “You are. Battle-worn and scarred and absolutely magnificent.”
I had to clear my throat. “On your feet, baby.”
