He extracted his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out three condoms—apparently, he had high hopes—and tossed the wallet to the nightstand.
“Lie down.” He watched, a new fire in his eyes this time. One like she’d never seen before.
“How do you take off the shaper thing?” he asked, settling the condoms on the pillow within arm’s reach but not intrusively in the way.
Travis was good at being prepared. Who knew?
“It’s just…like…” She wanted to hide her face behind her palm. She didn’t,because she had a feeling that would only ignite more of whatever was going on in his eyes. While that look excited her, it also scared the bejeezus out of her.
“Like?” he asked.
“Like underwear.”
Just like that—lickety-split—his face hovered over hers. “And you’re wearing this underwear?”
“Yes?” She sort of asked and sort of answered.
“It’s covering you?” he asked. “Between your legs?”
“Yes?” The sort of asked, sort of answered thing was becoming habit with not-bickering Travis.
“Then, ma’am,” he said, leaning heavily on the accent. “I guarantee this shaper thing is desirable, and sexy, and somethin’ I want to see. Nothing you say will make it not.” He said the words, and he moved to pin her with his hips against her own, the impressive evidence of his arousal against her stomach, and then his mouth descended to meet hers.
Urgent, sweet,and a balm that made her not care what kind of underwear she wore,because pretty soon she’d be wearing none and that was perfectly awesome. Preferable, even.
“Lift for me.” His words against her mouth were gravel and crushed marble as he straddled her again, guiding her hips so she raised them, her heels pressing into the white duvet cover.
With her hips lifted, he pushed her dress up to her waist. His hands touching everything along the way, skimming the skin of her thighs, brushing against spandex, until he got to the waistband nestled high above her belly button.
Then, Travis Frank surprised her, because he removed the shaper without any assistance. Like he was a spandex-shaper-remover professional.
This was impressive because it took her a solid three minutes to get the thing on and off, yet he rolled the material down, down, down, and tossed it off the bed like it wasn’t a big deal and she was still desirable and…yes, she was so going to put her mouth on that tent in his trousers. A lot.
A whole lot.
Later, though, because he needed to finish undressing her. And she was damp between her thighs and she had barely moved but was breathing heavily and it would probably take only two strokes from him and she’d come.
With tongue and lips and hands, he pressed butterfly kisses to the scar just above her pubic bone, around the side of her belly where silver stretch marks marred the skin.
He continued touching and kissing all the spots she’d never shown anyone except her doctor.
“Travis, you don’t have to…” she started to say but ended on anahhhh,because his kisses had moved to between her thighs and this time they were of the French variety.
Using his thumbs to stroke her sensitive opening, he tongued her core,rolling his mouth over the center of her desire until she was clutching the bedspread. Panting, she was pretty much seeing all the stars that were ever in the night sky.
“I want to.” He raised his gaze. His eyes held hers, which was amazing but also not, because his mouth left the space between her thighs.
What did he want to do?
He should continue doing whatever it was he wanted to do.
She must’ve somehow broadcast this either telepathically or, more likely, with words she didn’t realize she was speaking, because he chuckled. Deep and low and she clenched the bedspread harder.
Seriously? Could a woman come when a man wasn’t even touching her?
“Let me see you.” He massaged the spot where her thighs met her torso with the pads of his thumbs.
She pinched her eyes shut. They’d come this far. He was intothis. She was intothis. He’d already seen most of it.
