“I’m not tall enough. You must take it off.”
He whipped his shirt over his head and she saw the beast again for a moment. But then he was still once more. Waiting as she had asked.
Her eyes traced the line of his shoulder that had carried her up the stairs. His arms showed the muscle she had felt every time he had held her. His hard manly chest with the smallest bit of brown hair in the center, going down, down, down . . . not yet, Franny.
She knelt at his feet, and he sucked in a breath.
“Sorry.” She grinned. “Don’t get too excited. I’m just taking off your shoes.”
He laughed, all on his own. “I’m that transparent?”
She busied herself with the laces. “No. Your cock is.”
Another solo laugh from her Kit. She joined in.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“What?” She tapped his leg and he lifted it and she took off his shoe and reached up under his trouser leg to pull his stocking down.
“That laughing could be part of this.”
“Only when it’s good.” She got the other shoe and stocking off and stood, brushing her hands together. “Back away a little.” She sat on the bed. “Take off the trousers.”
With no hesitation, he skimmed the brown wool down to his ankles and kicked the trousers off.
His legs were as muscled as his arms and chest with more brown hair like the hair on his chest and at the base of his cock.
Yes. His cock. It was fully upright. Girthful and tall. Swollen with need. A drop glistened at the tip and all she’d done was kiss his neck and touch his chest. But the air in the room was thick with their mutual desire. She ached and pulsed and pressed her own thighs together.
“I’m the luckiest girl in the world today,” she murmured. “You’re so . . . so . . .”
He snorted. “Scrumptious?”
“Divine.”
He shifted his weight back and forth. But there was no embarrassment or self-consciousness at her obvious ogling or her compliment about his form. But maybe some impatience?
She stood. “Go slow,” she warned. “No ripping. This is my favorite dress, and I only own three.”
“Yes. No ripping.”
She turned and he unbuttoned her dress as slowly as she had unbuttoned his waistcoat.
A pause. “Over your head or push it down?”
“Over my head.” She raised her arms. “My bumptious bottom interferes.”
As he pulled the dress over her head, she heard him whisper, “Your beautiful bottom.”
Her sweet, darling Kit.
She thought of how she had just minutes ago prayed that some girl would love him since she couldn’t, she shouldn’t.
Why did I wish for that when I adore him so? Because I want him to be happy. Kit deserves happiness and understanding. He should never be alone again. That’s my Christmas wish.
Three dresses.
That was going to change immediately if he had anything to say about it.
