“That’s not a word.”
“It is now.”
He grins, reaching for the zipper at the back of my dress. “May I?”
I turn around, lifting my hair off my neck. His fingers brush my spine as he pulls the zipper down, and I shiver at the contact. The dress loosens, then falls, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric.
I stand before him in nothing but a black lace bra and matching underwear—thank God I planned ahead—and suddenly I feel very exposed. Very seen.
He makes a sound, low and almost pained. “Tori.” My name comes out rough. “You’re...”
I lift my eyes to his, waiting.
“I had a whole sentence planned. It’s gone now.” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes traveling over me. “You broke my brain.”
I laugh, and just like that, the nervousness fades. This is us—heat and humor and something real underneath it all.
“Get over here,” I tell him.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter, and then his mouth is everywhere—my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. I arch into him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back, trying to pull him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
He kisses his way down my body, taking his time, and I’m going to lose my mind. Every touch feels amplified, electric—like my nerve endings have been waiting for exactly this.
When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he looks up at me.
“Still good?”
“Zayden. If you ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m going to—”
“Going to what?”
“I don’t know, but it’ll be dramatic.”
He grins, and then he stops asking and starts showing me exactly why he’s been worth the wait. His mouth trails across sensitive skin, and I arch into him.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against my thigh, “how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
“How long?” I pant.
“Since the first time you put your hands on my shoulder and told me to stop being a baby about the ice bath.”
“That was week one.”
“I’m aware.” He kisses my hip bone, and I gasp. “Drove me crazy. This gorgeous woman with her hands all over me, completely professional, while I’m lying there trying not to embarrass myself.”
“You hid it well.”
“I’m an athlete. I’m used to hiding pain.” He lifts his head, grinning. “Among other things.”
I pull him back up, kissing him hard, and his hands start to wander. Down my sides, over my hips, hooking under my thigh to pull my leg up around him. The contact makes us both groan.
“Wait,” I breathe. “Too many clothes. You’re still wearing pants.”
“Valid point.”
He pulls back long enough to deal with his belt, and I take the opportunity to unhook my bra and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. I hear the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of pants hitting the floor, and then—
