His bed.
He setsme down at the foot of it. Both feet on the floor. Hands on my hips to steady me.
Then he steps back.
Takes me in.
"Cardigan off."
I shrug it off. Drop it on the bench at the foot of the bed.
"Arms up."
I lift them. He peels the tank over my head. Tosses it.
He takes his time with the bra. Reaches around my back. Unhooks it one-handed. Slides the straps down my arms. Drops it.
I stand there in the lamplight in leggings and nothing else and I don't flinch.
His jaw does the tic.
"Jesus Christ."
He steps in. Not close enough to touch. Just looks. Gray eyes moving over me slow. My breasts. My stomach. The softer curve of my hips where the leggings sit.
"You are a fucking problem."
"So you've said."
"You're more of one with your shirt off."
A laugh escapes me. Shaky.
"Leggings."
I hook my thumbs in them. Push them down. Step out. My underwear goes with. I don't plan it but it happens and his breath catches for one clean second and it's better than if I had.
He walks around me.
Slow circle.
Stops behind me. One hand lands on my hip. The other pushes my braids to one side and comes to rest at the nape of my neck. Warm palm. Not squeezing. Just there.
"If I'd tied you to the chair," he says, low in my ear, "you'd have liked it."
"Yes."
"I know."
His mouth finds the side of my throat. Not a kiss. A graze. The beard. A scrape of teeth that isn't teeth. My whole body does a small shiver and he feels it under his hand and I feel him smile against my skin.
"On the bed. On your knees. Facing the headboard."
I go.
I climb up. Kneel on the mattress. Hands on my thighs.
I hear him behind me. The flannel coming off. The henley. Belt unbuckling. Jeans. The rustle of clothes hitting the floor in a pile.
