“Dramatic.”
“I’m a musician. We’re naturally dramatic.” He kissed my neck, sucked on my earlobe, then whispered into my ear, “also, I’ve been thinking about touching you since the moment I first saw you. So if I seem a little intense, that’s why.”
“I can handle intense.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
He pulled back, grinning. “You weren’t a Scout either, were you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I like rule-breakers.”
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak. His hands mapped my body—my waist, my hips, higher, thumbs brushing over my breasts.
I arched into the touch, desperate for more.
“Bedroom?” he asked.
“End of the hall.”
He swept me up like some kind of romance novel hero, and I yelped.
“I can walk!”
“I know, but this is more fun.”
He carried me down the hall, kicked open my bedroom door, and deposited me on the bed with surprising gentleness.
Then he stood there, backlit by the hallway light, and stared at me.
“What?” I whispered.
“Just… taking a minute. You’re so damn pretty.”
“I’m wearing dog-themed sleepwear.”
“And you’re pulling it off.” He tugged his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and my brain short-circuited.
He was built like someone who’d grown up doing actual work… broad shoulders, defined arms, a stomach that suggested he’d met a gym once or twice but wasn’t obsessed. A tattoo curved over his left ribs, script I couldn’t quite read in the dim light.
“See something you like?” he asked, his voice teasing.
“I… yeah. Yes. Obviously.”
He crawled onto the bed, caging me in with his arms. “Good. Because I’m about to see a lot more of you, and I want you to know I’m going to appreciate every single inch.”
“That’s very… oh.”
He’d pushed up my sweatshirt, his mouth on my stomach, kissing a trail from my navel to my chest.
“You okay?” he murmured against my skin.
“Uh-huh.”
“Use your words, beautiful.”
