“Sorry if it’s a mess,” I mutter, glancing around.
He laughs. “Trust me, I’m not here for the housekeeping.”
But before I can dwell on it, he’s tugging me toward him, eyes gleaming with desire. “Enough small talk, big guy. Show me what you’ve got.”
I don’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, I scoop him up and toss him onto the bed, relishing his surprised gasp. I climb on top of him, drinking in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“You’re beautiful,” I say before capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.
Our lips meet, and it’s like a circuit completing. Electric. Urgent. His hands are in my hair, tugging me closer as I explore the curves of his body. I can taste the sweetness and smokiness of the whiskey he had at the club, mixed with something uniquely him.
I’m glad that despite the feathery decorations on the guy’s mask, it doesn’t get in the way as we kiss.
“God, you feel so good,” I breathe against his neck, lost in the moment.
His hands roam over my back, pulling me closer as our tongues dance. I can’t remember the last time I felt this…alive. This connected to another person. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
His fingers begin to fumble with the buttons of my shirt, small and deft, pushing each one through its hole with a teasing slowness that’s agonizing and thrilling. They slip underneath the fabric, tracing shapes along my skin, leaving trails of fire. “Too many clothes,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice husky.
I shudder, grappling with the urge to just rip the material off. But this slow discovery, this gradual unveiling he’s orchestrating, feels too intoxicating to rush.
I manage to get a hold of his shirt—somehow even more flimsy than those scandalous hot pants—and pull it over his head, mindful to keep his mask in place. His skin under my hands is smooth and cold from the winter air yet rapidly warming under my touch. Every curve and dip of his muscles feels like the map to paradise.
My fingers find the hem of his ridiculously sexy hot pants, tugging gently. He lifts his hips obligingly, allowing me to peel the fabric over his thighs and down his legs, revealing more of that smooth, tan skin I’ve been dying to touch all night.
The fishnet tights are harder to remove, and in my impatience, I end up tearing them.
“Oh my,” he gasps.
“Sorry. My hands are too big.”
He smiles. “Oh, honey, I’m not upset you ripped the tights. Keep going, and you’ll see how very not upset I am.”
I knew he couldn’t be wearing boxer shorts, but lacy white panties were not what I was expecting.
“You can rip those too.” And with his permission, I do. He gasps again as his hard cock is released from its lacy confines.
His cock isn’t super thick, but it’s longer than I would have expected for someone so petite.
I give him a few tugs, loving how he moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Fuck, I love that sound. You’re stunning.”
He reaches for the buttons on my jeans, but with our height difference, it’s a little awkward, so I do it for him, removing my underwear at the same time.
My cock, hard and heavy, slaps against my belly.
“You’re definitely not so bad yourself, handsome,” he says.
I chuckle, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenges, arching into me. “Prove it.”
My lips trail down his neck, savoring the salt of his skin. “So perfect,” I murmur, tracing the contours of his collarbone with my tongue.
He responds with a low moan that sends shivers down my spine.
“You like that?” I ask, my voice husky.
