Page 19 of If You Like It, I Love It

His smile is as shameless as his words, and I love how seductive his sense of humor can be. He’s mastered the art of being sultry without being crass.

“I can make that happen. But if you want it to be cold, I’ll have to go out to the garage because that’s where my fridge lives now.” I can’t resist the playful dig.

“Pour it however you like it.”

Is he insinuating I’m the one who’s going to need water? Huh. From subtle to bold in the blink of an eye. My memory flashes back to the night he told me to lock my door and keep it locked—the way his voice changed, how in control and protective he suddenly sounded.

I liked it then, and I like it now.

He takes the glass of water when I offer it, and then he steps aside and says, “You’ll have to show me where to put it.”

Intuition tells me that’s not true. He knows where my bedroom is, and I’m certain he’ll need no direction once we get there. I lead the way, but feel like I’m following.

The moment he enters my room, he walks to the nightstand on my side of the bed and sets down the glass. And then he walks straight to me.

This kiss is a replay of the one in his truck, picking up where we left off, blurring the tension and logistics that got us here. We’re here now, and he’s not holding keys, so both of his hands are free. One holds my head the same way he did before, but the other slides down my back. Both pull me closer.

His hand on my back moves forward, and my arm shifts to give him access to more of my body. He undoes the buttons on my shirt, his eyes tracking the path until it falls open. Using both hands, he pushes it off my shoulders. The fabric fans over my back as it falls to the rug.

The button on my jeans releases instantly under his nimble fingers. His eyes stay on mine as he lowers my zipper. An inward zap of electricity snakes up my spine, too slight for him to notice, but I feel it all the way to the base of my scalp.

I step out of my shoes, and then my jeans. Standing before him with nothing but very intentionally matched black satin and lace between us, I feel confident and sexy. He looks me up and down, pulling a deep breath, and then expelling it from the bottom of his core.

On his next measured breath, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, and I reach for his belt. I love the way his abs contract when my fingers first brush his skin, the reflex that causes his muscles to retreat on a clipped breath before his next deep inhale centers him.

He sits on the overstuffed chair in the corner that’s usually draped with whatever clothes I wore last. Both his shirt and his jeans hang open as he takes off his boots. I would buy this image of him in a gallery without even asking the price, bring it home, and hang it on my bedroom wall where I could see him from my bed anytime I wanted. Or needed.

I step between his legs. A bra strap slips off my shoulder, and his eyes go molten, tracing the exposed swell being revealed as the lacy cup falls away from my skin. His hand slips inside, and my heels lift a few inches off the ground when he gently pinches my nipple, forcing me forward onto the balls of my feet. I plant my hands on his shoulders to keep from falling into him.

Our eyes engage, his watching for my reaction and mine answering: I’m sure I’m sure I’m sure . . .

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he says, pinching harder before he releases my nipple and removes his hand, dragging the lace cup lower as he goes. “Can I take this off?”

All I can do is nod. My voice feels too distant to reach. I swallow hard as my bra joins my shirt on the rug. He squeezes my ass firmly with both hands before his thumbs pull my panties down my thighs and the last lacy barrier drops.

He stands, and I take a step back to give him room to move. His shirt falls to the floor, fully revealing the abs my fingers grazed before, but no part of him pulls away as my eyes map them. The weight of his unbuckled belt has dragged the top of his opened jeans lower, and my gaze drifts between the widening part in his zipper and then back up over his torso to his bare chest.

We step closer at the same time, inciting our smiles to sync as well. He moves forward again, and his hands land on my hips to pull me in, closing the remaining gap between our bodies.

Our kiss is hard and hungry, and the next thing I know, he’s walked me to the edge of the bed where we lower to the mattress together. It’s not cautious or graceful—it’s clumsy and frantic and still too slow for the urges rushing through me.

He’s on his side, and I’m flat on my back, needing him to quell every agitation in me at once. I want his hands, his mouth, his everything. As if he’s read my mind, his hand roams from the spot it’s been warming at my waist, down over my hip and onto my thigh before it slips between my barely separated legs.

His forearm presses against my inner thigh to guide my legs open. I don’t resist, but apparently, I’m not complying quickly enough.

“Spread your legs all the way for me.”

I slide my right leg aside as far as I’m able without working it under his ribcage, but I splay my left leg to its limit, rendering me fully spread, given the circumstances.

He moans as he surveys the results of my grooming efforts, which have always been limited to clearing the edges and merely trimming the rest, but he obviously likes what he sees.

“I thought you didn’t care what was going on down there,” I say.

“I said I didn’t have a preference. That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate your choice.”

His palm flattens on my stomach, and my internal flutters escalate from the gentle flap of butterfly wings to the pulsating flicker of a thousand hummingbirds. My breath quickens as his hand glides lower to cup my pussy, his fingers stroking softly over the trimmed hair beneath them.

He’s patient as he explores my body, but his shoulders and biceps are taut, thick veins appearing to strain under the tightness of his skin. So much bridled restraint that I’m ready for him to unleash, but at the same time, I could lie here for hours and let his hand freely roam over me.