"Work?" She laughs breathlessly. "Is that what we're calling this?"
"Professional assessment," I say with a grin, echoing her earlier words. "Very thorough. Very detailed."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like it." I kiss her neck, finding that spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. "Admit it."
"Maybe." Her hands slide under my shirt. "Take this off. Want to see you too."
I sit back and pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes go wide, tracking over the tattoos covering my chest and arms.
"Wow," she breathes.
"Professional assessment?" I tease.
"Shut up." She reaches up to trace one of the designs on my ribs. "These are beautiful. When did you get them?"
"Over the years. Some I did myself." I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "We can talk about my ink later. Right now, I have other priorities."
I kiss my way down her body—her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts. Taking my time, savoring every sound she makes.
I take my time, lavishing attention on first one breast then the other. Learning what makes her gasp, what makes her squirm. When I scrape my teeth lightly over her nipple, her hands fist in my hair and she makes a sound that's pure need.
"Grayson, please?—"
"Please what?" I kiss my way across her chest. "Tell me what you need, baby."
"I don't—I need—" She's incoherent, and I love it.
"The couch," I decide. "Need you somewhere I can take my time."
I scoop her up and she yelps, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I can walk!"
"I know. But I like carrying you." I deposit her on the leather couch and follow her down. "Comfortable?"
She nods, eyes dark with want.
"Good." I settle between her legs, careful not to crush her with my weight. "Because I plan to make you very comfortable."
I kiss her again while my hands roam—over her ribs, her stomach, the soft skin of her sides. When my fingers find the button of her jeans, she lifts her hips eagerly.
"Can I take these off?" I ask, wanting to hear her say yes.
"God, yes. Please."
I make quick work of the button and zipper, then pause with my hands at her waistband. "Just these? Or everything?"
"Everything." Her voice is firm, confident. No hesitation. "I want everything off. I want you to see all of me."
My brain short-circuits for a second. "Bea?—"
"We're not having sex," she says quickly. "But I want—I need?—"
"I know what you need." I hook my fingers in her jeans and panties. "Lift up for me."
She does, and I slide both down her legs in one smooth movement. When I see her fully bare beneath me, I have to close my eyes and count to ten.
The scent of her arousal hits me fully now—cinnamon and apples spiked with the unmistakable sweetness of slick. My knot throbs in response, already beginning to swell just from her scent alone.
