Page 43 of The Boxer’s Belle

Beneath her fingertips, Miles’s heartbeat kicked into a gallop. His tongue dipped between too full lips. The effect she had on him was a delicious, heady reminder. Luxuriating, she traced the lines of his chest and shoulders as she rounded his form. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of her fingers along the warm skin of his back.

Satisfied with her inspection, she straightened in front of him once more. “Unbutton my dress.”

His jaw ticked, but he nodded, then reached out to turn her by the waist. He seemed to have cottoned on to her scheme, because he skimmed his hands up her sides until he reached the buttons lining her spine. His breath tickled the damp skin of her neck as he worked.

His warmth seeped through the space between them, air crackling as he worked the fabric loose.

“Kiss me,” she breathed. As if his tether had snapped, he’d fallen to her neck before she finished the second syllable. His lips branded her skin, searing hot as his hand slid along her belly to tug her back against his chest.

Lust coiled in her belly as she reached back to clutch him tighter to her throat. He scraped the tendon he found there with his teeth before soothing it with his lips and tongue. Shivers ran down her spine and left her unsteady.

Reluctantly, she pulled back and turned to face him. A purely feminine satisfaction welled within her at the sight of him. He’d never looked so wrecked, not even after dozens of rounds in the ring. His breath came in sharp pants that put his time at the heavy bag to shame. A flush pooled in his cheeks and down his chest. His pupils had dilated widely.

Bella waited, patient, until his gaze caught hers before sliding one arm, then the other, free from her dress. Miles’s hands twitched at his sides, as though longing to touch.

Instead of allowing that, she tipped her head toward his feet. “Boots.”

He caught the heel of one with the toe of the other and kicked the worn black leather free before repeating the process and nudging them to one side. His gaze never left her as she worked her petticoat down to the floor and stepped free.

Slowly, she turned and offered him her back again. “Laces.”

“Bella…” he cautioned, even as his fingers rose for the cords lining her spine.

“This is my choice, Miles. Does your objection stem from some noble, self-sacrificing idiocy? Or something practical?”

“You want this? Here? Now?” She felt him tug one end of the bow.

“Yes.”

He pulled the second end loose before shoving the straps off her shoulders. Warm hands fell to her hips and pulled her to him again. His hardness pressed against the cleft of her bottom, proud and unashamed.

“How do you want me?” he whispered against the notch where her jaw met her neck.

“On the chaise.”

“Alright.” Miles pulled back and rounded her to sit as directed. He clutched at the white linen of her chemise, then pulled her to stand before him, slotted between his thighs.

Bella cupped his cheek in one hand and took the moment to study him. Gone were the last whispers of adolescence. His cheeks had sharpened. He was solid now, no longer defined by limbs that were slightly too long for his frame. Lines had made their way to the corners of his eyes. His nose had been broken once or twice in the years since they’d last done this. But his eyes, that clear, adoring blue, were precisely the same as they had always been.

“Acceptable?” he asked.

“Tolerable.”

A laugh escaped him as his hand snatched at her thigh. With a playful growl, he hauled her up to straddle his thighs. One arm banded about her waist, the other playing with the linen rucked around her thighs.

“I love you,” he whispered, even as he shook his head. “I love when you insult me. Do it again.”

Clutching both cheeks, she leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I really have ruined you, haven’t I?”

“Yes.” His nod was eager, knocking her head with the motion. “Can I kiss you?”

“I supp⁠—”

Miles, too eager, claimed her lips before she could finish the word.

The desperation that had tinged their previous kisses remained. But this time, she found an unfamiliar levity. She could taste it in the curve of his smile, the tickle of his fingers on her ribs, feel it in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes beneath her fingers.

Slowly, the hand on her thigh dipped down, down, down, to catch the edge of her chemise before retracing the journey, this time on bare flesh.