"They were expensive—"
"I'll buy you more."
I undo my belt, my slacks, freeing myself with efficiency born of desperation. I'm so hard it's painful.
"Condom," she gasps. "We need—"
I'm already reaching for my pocket. I've been carrying them since yesterday—just in case. In case of exactly this.
I tear the wrapper with my teeth. Her eyes go dark.
"That's really hot," she breathes.
"Quiet."
She laughs breathlessly.
I kiss her properly then, slow and deep, pouring everything I can’t say into the connection—the admiration, the protectiveness, the bone-deep need.
She melts against me, her mouth opening under mine, yielding, inviting. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, a desperate claiming.
My hands slide down her back, finding the zipper of her dress. I pull it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room.
The green silk pools at her feet, leaving her in just her bra and the strappy sandals she wore to the party.
Moonlight spills through the window, painting her skin in silver. She’s breathtaking. Small, curved, strong. Utterly real.
My breath catches. “Jane. Let me look at you.”
She flushes, a rosy glow spreading from her cheeks down her neck and chest. She starts to cover herself, but I catch her wrists gently.
“Don’t,” I murmur, bringing her hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Let me see you. All of you.”
I step back, shrugging out of my own shirt, toeing off my shoes. Her gaze travels over my chest, my shoulders, down to the shielded raging cock.
There’s no fear in her eyes now, only heat and a fierce kind of curiosity that sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.
I close the distance again, my hands skimming up her bare sides, tracing the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm silk under my calloused palms. She shivers, arching into my touch.
“Bed?” I ask, my voice rough.
She shakes her head, her eyes locked on mine. “Here.”
I groan. It’s impulsive. Primal. Exactly what this feels like. I nod, unable to speak.
My hands move to the clasp of her bra. It comes undone easily. The lace falls away, and I finally see her breasts, so full and pale in the moonlight, tipped with dusky pink.
Beautiful. Perfect. Mine to worship.
I take one taut peak into my mouth. She gasps, her handsflying to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands.
I suckle gently, then with more pressure, swirling my tongue, learning the texture, the taste.
Her moan is low, desperate, vibrating against my lips. Her hips press against mine, seeking friction.
I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention, while my hand slides down, over the curve of her hip, down her thigh. Her skin is fever-hot.
She whimpers, her legs parting instinctively.
