He reaches for the hem of his sweatshirt that I’m still wearing, rips it over my head, tosses it aside.
Something tumbles over with a metallic clang, and when the scent of citrus hits my nose, I know it’s the cocktail.
“Whoops,” he murmurs as the liquid starts soaking into my pants, my shirt.
I glance down, snag the shaker, and right it. “I suppose we’re even now.”
“Hmm.” He drags my shirt over my head. “Let me see how good of a drink you mixed up, Stitch.”
Then he’s bending over, licking at my skin.
“Mmm.” A flick of his tongue. “Delicious.”
“I—”
He unbuttons my jeans, tugs down the zipper, lifts me up enough to tug them down my legs.
“Wait,” I say when he bends to kiss me again.
He immediately freezes. “Want to stop?”
“No. Iwantyou in your underwear too.”
A wolfish smile.
But he pulls off his own shirt, steps out of his shoes, his socks. My throat goes tight when he flicks open his jeans, shoves them down.
And then he’s standing in front of me in nothing more than his boxer briefs.
“Beautiful,” I say.
He kisses me, slow and deep and wet. “You stole my line.”
“Well,youstole my drink.”
“How do you figure that?”
I scowl. “You spilled it.”
“Hmm.” A nip to my jaw. “Maybe I’ll spill it some more.”
Before I can ask what he means by that…he shows me.
I gasp as he picks up the shaker, splashes some of the cocktail over me.
“Oh no,” he mock exclaims. “Your bra is wet.” Hot brown eyes. “You’d better take it off.”
I giggle, but reach behind me, undo the clasp.
He’s tugging it down my arms before my next heartbeat.
“I’ve dreamed about these.” He buries his face in my breasts, licking and sucking at my flesh.
God, that’s good.
The slightly rough touch, the way he takes one of my nipples into his mouth and draws deeply. How he kisses his way down my body and then makes my underwear disappear like he’s a freaking magician.
And then working that same magic between my legs.
