“Yes.”
He decreased the pressure slightly. “Good.”
Nuzzling just under her earlobe, he pressed a kiss there before reaching to grip her hips.
“All evening,” he murmured, “I’ve been wondering what you have on under this dress.”
Slowly, he lowered the zipper that began just above her tailbone, then pushed the fabric down, sending it pooling at her feet.
Immediately, he grew so hard, it pained him. “Jesus Christ.”
She wore white and blue lace underwear edged with red, made of the most delicate sheer lace he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Sexy as hell but, at the same time, elegant. A triangle of lace lay on her backside, tapering to disappear between those cheeks he wanted to touch and lick and kiss and bite.
On closer look, the pattern was floral.
“Beautiful.” His fingertips traced the clusters of five-petaled white flowers. “This requires closer inspection.”
He swept her up into his arms. She made a little sound of surprise but recovered quickly and looped her arms around his neck.
He placed her on the bed with utmost care, as if she’d break if he handled her roughly. She didn’t scoot up or move over to accommodate him, just spread out like a starfish, her hands stroking the silk sheets.
She looked like a Norse goddess who’d materialized in his bed.
The trace of uncertainty in her eyes, however, made something tighten in his chest.
He leaned down, placing his hands on her knees, letting them glide up her inner thighs, exerting just enough pressure to urge her to open for him. “Is there a name for these flowers other than beautiful?”
“Bergfrue.”
“Never heard of it.” He stroked her, avoiding where he really wanted to touch.
Not yet. Not yet, even if it kills me. I want her comfortable.
“It’s the …”
His thumb grazed the crimson edging of the lace.
She drew in a shaky breath. “… national flower of Norway. The name translates to …”
He moved his finger slightly, stroking her gently, back and forth.
She shuddered. “M … mistress of the mountains.”
Mistress. Nick smirked. “Does it, now?” He parted her legs a little more. “What else?”
Her gaze moved from his chest to his mouth, then to his eyes. “Areyou going to spend all night talking and asking me questions?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He paused, his grip firm on her. “What do you want, then?”
“I want you to show me what you like to do.”
His heart began to pound hard against his ribs. “You sure?”
“No.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “But I want to know you.”
