"I understand."
"Do you?" His thumbs brush the strip of skin where my shirt has ridden up. The touch sends electricity racing through me. "Because I don't do casual. I don't do halfway. If I take you to bed, you're mine." He says those words again. You’re mine. He’s making sure I get it, and I do. I want this. "Completely."
The possessiveness in his voice should probably scare me. Instead, it makes me wet.
"I want to be yours," I whisper.
His breath shudders out. "And you'll tell me if anything doesn't feel right? If I push too hard or move too fast?"
"I will."
Then he kisses me, and the world falls away.
His mouth is demanding, consuming, taking everything I'm offering and asking for more. His tongue sweeps against mine violently as if it’s claiming me, too. One hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss while the other slides down to cup my ass, pulling me flush against him.
I can feel how hard he is through his suit pants. His rock-hard cock is pressing insistently against my stomach. I roll my hips, grinding against him, and he groans into my mouth.
"Fuck, sweetheart." He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. "You're going to kill me."
"Good."
He laughs, low and dark. "Mouthy little thing, aren't you?"
Before I can respond, he's lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist automatically, gasping at the friction as he walks us toward the bed.
He sets me down gently, and I immediately reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps me pull it off, revealing the body I've been fantasizing about for days.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest with a light dusting of dark hair. Abs that aren't overly sculpted but strong and solid. A trail of hair disappearing into his pants that makes my mouth water.
"You're staring," he says, amused.
"You're beautiful."
"That's my line." His hands find the hem of my dress. "Can I?"
I nod, raising my arms so he can pull it off.
His eyes darken as he takes me in. I'm wearing a simple white bra, it’s far from being fancy, but the way he's looking at me makes me feel like the most desirable woman on earth.
"Perfect," he breathes. "You're absolutely perfect."
His hands trace up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. The touch is feather-light, teasing, and it makes me arch toward him.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what?" His fingers trace the edge of my bra. "Use your words, sweetheart."
"Touch me. I need you to touch me."
"Where?" He trails one finger down the center of my chest, between my breasts, over my stomach. "Here?"
"Everywhere. Anywhere. I don’t know. Just please touch me already."
He smiles, wicked and knowing. "I like hearing you beg."
"Ethan—"
"Shh." He leans down, pressing kisses along my collarbone. "I've got you. I'm going to take such good care of you."
