I stand just as she drops to her knees in front of me to reach for a stray screw. The position is awkward and charged all at once. She’s kneeling right there, eye level with my crotch, and when she looks up at me, it takes every shred of restraint to keep my dick in check.
I watch her throat work as she swallows and her lips part slightly. I drop back down on my knees to help her, our faces suddenly close, her eyes wide.
“I can help,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
She doesn’t move. Just stares at my mouth like she’s forgotten how to speak. “Okay,” she whispers.
Then her hand lifts, fingertips brushing the small scar near my eyebrow. The touch is feather-light, tentative, and my eyes close instinctively. When I open them, she’s still looking at me, her hand trembling slightly against my skin.
I lean in slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind, and brush my lips against hers. Testing. Soft at first, letting her respond. She melts into me with a sound that goes straight to my cock.
I deepen the kiss, and her hands twist in my shirt, tugging me closer, pulling me fully into her. Every inch of her is heat, every gasp, every tiny shift of her body against mine sending fire straight through me.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and walk her backward until her back hits the wall. She gasps against my mouth, and I hold her there, letting the kiss stretch, letting her feel what she does to me, giving her every chance to slow things down.
“Bedroom,” she breathes against my jaw.
I scoop her up, and her legs lock around my waist like this is muscle memory. She kisses along my neck as I carry herdown the hall, and it takes every ounce of coordination I can summon not to run us into a wall.
Her bedroom is cozy and dark. Deep purple walls, plants on every surface, pools of warm light from lamps instead of the overhead fixture. The bed is unmade, sheets tangled, like she left in a hurry this morning.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “We don’t have to?—”
“I’m sure.” She pulls back to look at me. “Are you?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I lay her down, and she sits up right away, pulling my T-shirt over her head.Fuck.No bra. Just skin and that delicate tattoo along her ribs.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Can you blame me?”
She gestures at my shirt with a wave of her hand. “Off.”
I strip my shirt in one motion and toss it aside. Her hands are on me immediately, fingers tracing across my chest, down my stomach, like she is reacquainting herself with every line.
“I forgot how amazing your body is,” she murmurs.
“I didn’t forget anything about you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her gaze flickers up, something unguarded passing through it, then she drags me down into another kiss, and any chance for deeper conversation goes out the window.
My hands find the waistband of her leggings. “Okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I slide them and her panties down together, and she lifts her hips to help, all business, no shyness. When she is naked beneath me, heat floods my system like ashock.
I reach for my belt, then freeze. “I don’t have a condom.”
She lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
“Right,” I say. “I should still say I got tested after July. I’m clean.”
“Me too. And there hasn’t been anyone else. Since you.”
Is it wrong that I love that fact? I look down at her, and there’s something in her expression I haven’t seen before. A softness. A flicker of vulnerability that makes my breath catch.
