Warmth in his eyes, a hand skating up my side, dipping into my hair, his mouth brushing over mine.
Then he drops his arms, lets me push off his coat, set it over mine.
There’s something about that view, our jackets intermingled, gently folded together, his surrounding mine but not obscuring it that feels right.
That feels like us.
Or maybe it’s that the song and his words and his care have made me as sappy as he’d worried he was on the drive home.
Either way, I don’t care.
Because he’s come close, wrapping his arms around my waist, drawing me back against his chest, resting his chin on the top of my head as we sway to a silent song that’s ours alone.
He turns me in his hold, those deep brown eyes searing straight into my soul. “Let me?”
When I nod, he nudges me back and I realize he’s swayed me over to the bed.
A long, drugging kiss as I sink down onto the edge of the mattress, his hands moving over my body, evaporating my nerves with the slow, easy touches. He undoes my boots, tosses them to the side and peels off my socks before repeating the process with his own shoes.
Then he’s straightening and reaching for the hem of my shirt, but before he draws it up and over my head, he pauses, his “Let me” there for all that its silent.
I nod and as soon as the material is tossed to the side, landing soundlessly on the rug, I’m drawing his shirt up, dropping it to the floor to tangle with mine.
He moves into me, pressing me back onto the mattress, my head on the pillows, his body coming over the top of mine.
Another kiss that turns me to mush, his hands trailing over my sensitized skin, his actions unhurried despite the fire that’s beginning to build inside me. He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay—he knows I am. He’s built the trust with my brain, my body, my heart. And every touch, every caress, every stroke is another thread sewn between us.
Kisses along my jaw, down my throat, the center of my chest.
A hand slipping behind my back.
A flick and my bra is loose, the straps pushed down my arms.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my flesh, the heat of the words more fuel for the fire in my womb. He kisses the underside of one breast, the stubble on his jaw a rasp that has me shuddering, hands on his shoulders to keep him close.
But he wasn’t going to leave anyway.
Lips and tongue work at my nipples, roughened palms mold my flesh, lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through me.
But the ache between my legs only continues to grow.
His body moving down mine, drawing my pants and underwear off, spreading my legs.
A tongue dipping into soaked flesh, fingers gently slipping inside.
It’s slow and lazy, loving me until I come apart, pleasure rolling through me in waves.
He makes his way back up my body, nuzzles my throat, his hands still gentle, still unhurried, but the evidence of his desire strains at his jeans, presses into my hip.
He doesn’t ask “Let me?” again.
He wouldn’t.
So I’m the one to say, “Yes.”
Because it’s time.
Because I can’t think of a better moment than right now, tonight when I’ve been loved and coaxed and held and pleasured.
