Mad props to the god of sex and the designer of this dress for the slit along the side of her gown. Access was becoming very important tonight. She should send a thank-you card to this designer for truly thinking of everything when she came up with the concept for this gown.
“Gavin,” she said on a breath.
His mouth met hers, and there was tongue and lips and there were sounds, so many sounds. He moaned, she grunted. The hardness of him pressed between her legs.
He trailed his hand along her side, around the curve of her hip, down to her thigh.
She made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like an invitation even to her own ears.
“Please,” she said softly.
That’s all he needed to begin unzipping her dress as he pulled her even closer against his body.
“More,” he said, gruff against the curve of her neck.
“Please,” she said again, curling her calf around his thigh even as the top of her dress spilled open.
The bustier bra did a decent job of keeping her girls in line, but it was a sonofabitch to get on and off. She hadn’t really thought about that when she’d agreed to come to his place.
Gavin, though, didn’t seem to mind. He drank in all of her—half in, half out of her gown.
Meanwhile, he was still all in his tuxedo, which was not fair. Not fair at all.
She pulled open the lapel, slipping his jacket down his arms and tossing it to the sofa. He undid the necklace, placing it gently on the entry table near a lamp.
And then Gavin was already working on his cufflinks, and she should probably lose the shoes and the rest of her dress.
Yes, most definitely.
Unfortunately, since they were both working on their clothing, there wasn’t a lot of touching happening.
No, she definitely needed more touch. This whole undressing themselves thing wasn’t working for her.
So she let her gown pool around her feet, left her shoes on, and went about unbuttoning his shirt for him.
He got the message, apparently, because, in turn, he began undoing the long trail of bustier hooks at her back. To be totally honest, as long as his hands were on her, she didn’t really care how he changed his lightbulbs.
She also didn’t care how they had gotten to this point. Because it didn’t particularly matter anymore.
What mattered was that they were here and, at least for now, they were together. She welcomed his strength to her softness.
“What do you want?” he asked, pulling back, letting the choice be hers.
That was the problem with choices, though. One could say yes or one could say no. One could say right or one could say left.
In this case, all she wanted was to have him ease that ache that had started near her sternum and radiated down to her toes.
“I want you,” she murmured, barely taking her mouth from his. “I don’t even know who you are, but I want you.”
“I’m Gavin,” he said against the skin of her jawline. Pressing butterfly kisses as he moved along the curve of her cheek.
“No.” She groaned as he sucked her earlobe. “I don’t think I like Gavin. But I’m becoming a big fan of whoever you are.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know the real Gavin?” He continued his exploration, along the line of her ear, up to her hairline.
She pulled back then, her eyes searching his, his expression one of total surrender.
“Who is the real Gavin, then?” Dang, those words were breathy and husky and dipped in sin.
