“There’s a surprise party waiting for you at my place.”
His expression shifted through about seven emotions in two seconds. Flattered. Horrified. Frustrated. Desperate. Finally, he landed on something that looked like physical pain.
“You’re telling me that once we get back to your house, I have tostopravaging you?”
“Afraid so.”
He dropped his forehead to my chest and groaned. The sound vibrated through my sternum and settled somewhere much lower.
“Don’t worry. We can resume as soon as they all leave,” I assured.
He lifted his head, and something shifted in his gaze. Something softer. His chin dipped slightly as he looked at me, and I watched the hunger temper into something more tender.
“Then I’d better make the most of the next thirty minutes.”
He pulled his boxers and jeans back up, but his mouth never stopped moving. Kissing my collarbone. The hollow of my throat. The space just below my ear that made me shiver. I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling the short buzz on the sides give way to the longer strands on top.
His hands slipped beneath my shirt, palms warm against my stomach, and he began inching the fabric upward again. One inch of fabric. One inch of newly exposed skin. One kiss pressed to each revealed section.
“You have a beautiful stomach,” he murmured against my navel.
Another inch. Another kiss.
The shirt climbed higher, cresting over the swell of my breasts. When his eyes landed on the black lace bra I’d chosen specifically for this moment, he actually growled. Low and rough and straight from his chest.
“You’re killing me, Princess.”
I smiled, reaching up to pull the shirt over my head and toss it aside. The limo hummed beneath us, trees and light poles sliding past the tinted windows, and I couldn’t imagine this was the safest position if we got into an accident. But I also couldn’t bring myself to care.
Knox trailed his lips across the tops of my breasts, his stubble rasping against my skin. His hands slid around my back, and with one deft movement, my bra clasp released. He tugged the black lace free and tossed it somewhere behind him.
Then he just … looked at me.
His eyes traced over my bare chest like he was memorizing every curve, every shadow. Like he was seeing something sacred.
It hit me then. This man hadn’t seen a woman’s body in years. Hadn’t touched one. Hadn’t tasted one. Every sensation was brand-new and achingly familiar, all at once.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed.
And then his mouth descended.
He took my nipple between his lips and sucked, his tongue swirling, and my back arched off the leather seat like I’d been electrocuted. Heat shot from his mouth through my chest and pooled between my thighs. That space began to pulse with its own heartbeat, desperate and aching.
He lavished attention on both breasts. Pinching. Swirling. Sucking one nipple while his fingers teased the other. Every so often, he’d glance up at me, checking my reaction, adjusting his rhythm based on the sounds I made. Total attunement. Like my pleasure had become his personal mission.
And, hell, it was beyond pleasurable, seeing him like this. This broad-shouldered, tattooed man bent over my body, his sandy hair catching the low light of the limo, his muscles flexing beneath his henley as he worshipped me.
If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be half-naked in a limousine with a convicted murderer’s mouth on my breast, I would have laughed in their face.
Now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
His lips trailed lower. Down my stomach. Following the same path his hands had traced earlier. When he reached thewaistband of my pants, he made quick work of the button. But then he slowed down.
He hooked his fingers into the fabric and dragged my pants down my hips at an agonizing pace. Over my thighs. Past my knees. Off my ankles in one final tug.
When he saw my panties, also black lace, he pressed his tongue to his molars and exhaled through his nose.
“You dressed like this for me.”
