He took her face in both hands.
"You're sure," he said.
She rolled her eyes. He turned her slightly and landed one warning swat to her butt, playfully. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
"I'm always going to be sure," she said. "That's who I am. You know that by now." Her chin tipped up. "Daddy, please."
He kissed her thoroughly, with everything he had behind it, his thumbs at her jaw and his hands cradling her face and nothing in the world pulling his attention anywhere else.
She made a sound against his mouth that moved through him like a current.
He walked her back toward the bed, slow, giving her every opportunity to change direction, and she went willingly, her hands moving from his shirt to his shoulders to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her rather than away, and he understood that she was exactly where she'd decided to be.
He broke the kiss long enough to look at her.
She was lying back against his pillow with her hair spread out and her eyes dark and her chest moving fast, and she looked up at him with an expression that was warm and wanting and entirely unafraid.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi." He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. "Still sure?"
"Rampage!”
"Checking."
"Yes." She pulled him back down. "Always yes."
He took his time with her.
He gave her his complete attention, with the deliberate intention of a man who understood that this woman had been carrying herself carefully for years and deserved someone who would handle her like she was worth it, because damn, she was worth it.
He kissed her mouth, her jaw, the curve of her neck, and felt her hands move through his hair and heard the specific sound she made when he found the place below her ear that made her grip tighten.
He took the towel off slowly, watching her face for permission at every stage and finding it, clear and present and unambiguous, Emily's version of consent which was direct eye contact andyesand hands pulling rather than pushing.
He pressed his lips to her collarbone. Her shoulder. The curve of her chest.
"You're so beautiful," he said. Into her skin.
She exhaled. "You say it like it's a fact."
"It is a fact."
Her hands tightened in his hair.
Every place his hands moved he followed with his mouth. She was warm and soft in all the right places. Damn if she wasn’t responsive to his touch.
"Rampage—" His name in her mouth, lower now, breathless.
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them lightly to the sheets above her head, watching how her breath deepened. "Tell me what you want," he said, low and near her ear, meaning every word.
"You know."
"I want to hear you say it."
Her hips shifted restlessly beneath him. "I want you," she said. "I want you to wreck me, and put me back together, and do it again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that." Her voice was steady, audacious, and he almost lost himself then.
Instead, he kissed the inside of her wrist, the hollow of her elbow. Lower. He nipped her hipbone and heard the air stutter in her lungs. She squirmed, impatient, her thighs tensing as his mouth made its way down. His tongue connected with her clit and flicked. She arched into his tongue, swearing, nearly coming at the first touch; he paused, wrapped a hand around her thigh, pressed her to the mattress until she shivered just at the limit of endurance. He brought his tongue back to her clit and worshipped it. Back and forth across the top, then he’d bring the bud into his mouth and suck, grazing slightly with his teeth.
