He runs his thumb over my lips, his eyes following the movement. Then, he puts his mouth where his thumb just was and kisses me.
It’s deep and wet and dirty, and it is the hottest kiss I’ve ever had in my life.
My hands wind into his hair as his hands roam my body, like he doesn’t know which part of me to touch first.
His blatant need for me makes me feel sexy and confident.
Breaking from our kiss, I step back from him.
Lustful, hazy eyes stare back at me.
Lifting the hem of my top, I pull it over my head, leaving me in my white bra. Not very sexy, but then I wasn’t expecting to have sex tonight.
Heat flares in those dark eyes of his. So clearly, he appreciates the sight. But he doesn’t make a move to touch me.
He’s turned on though. His erection is visible behind the thin material of his pants.
That bolsters my confidence to keep going.
Bringing my eyes back to his face, I drag my teeth over my lip. Then, I unbutton my jeans and pull the zipper down. The sound is loud in our breathy silence. I hook my thumbs into the waistband and shimmy them down over my hips until they hit the floor.
And then I’m standing before him in just my bra and knickers.
My body is vibrating with excitement and nerves.
From the exercise I do, I know I’m physically in good shape, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling trepidation over what Kas thinks about me…about my body.
I kick my jeans aside and glance down.
Oh dear God.
I’m wearing my Minnie Mouse knickers. I literally have Minnie covering my mini.
I thought it was funny when I bought them. Not feeling so funny now.
“Oh God,” I groan. “Ignore the knickers. So not sexy.”
“You’re wearing knickers?” He steps closer. “I didn’t notice. All I can see is you.”
“Smooth.” I tip my head back.
“Yeah, but I meant every fucking word. You are all I see.”
He tugs me into his arms, and his lips come down on mine.
I melt into his kiss. Wrapping my arms around him, I curl my fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt, now very aware of the fact that I’m almost naked and he’s fully clothed.
I know he said he has issues with the scarring on his body, and his prior behavior when I tried to touch his body or remove his T-shirt makes an awful lot more sense now.
I don’t want to push him on it, but I also want his skin on mine, and he kind of has to be naked for us to be able to actually have sex.
So, I decide the best course of action is not to try to remove his clothes but to ask.
“I want to see you,” I say against his lips.
He freezes, so I move my head back a touch, staring into his eyes. I can see a hint of panic in his.
“I want to feel your skin against mine, Kas. I want to feel you.”
He holds my stare, and then he seems to make a decision. He steps back from me.
I see his throat work nervously, and I feel bad for him.
“Just pants, if that’s easier? You can keep the shirt on.”
“No.” The fierce tone in his voice surprises me.
Then, I watch as he reaches back with his hand and pulls his shirt over his head.
He stops, holding it against his chest, his arms still through the armholes.
I can see he’s visibly trembling, so I stare him in the eye. “You don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready,” I whisper.
His infinite pools of blackness stare back at me. I see the determination rise in them. Then, he’s pulling his T-shirt the rest of the way off, and he drops it to the floor.
My eyes move over him. “You’re beautiful, Kas.”
And he is.
Yes, there’s extensive scarring on his body. The remnants of that night. But I don’t see the scars. I only see the man I love. The beautiful golden skin that covers his body, the ripple of muscles that lead down to his very lickable-looking V with the happy trail that disappears into his pants.
He works out, and it shows on his body. In his shoulders and arms…dear God, don’t get me started. But I’ll tell you this…my tongue plans on spending a lot of time getting acquainted with those veins that run through his strong forearms.
I lift my eyes back to his, and the emotion in them nearly slays me.
“Can I touch you?” I ask softly.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows roughly. He slightly nods his head.
I step forward, lifting my hand. I press my fingertips to his chest.
He sucks in a breath.
His skin is hot to the touch. I run my fingertips over his chest, over the scars and the unmarked skin, tracing down to his six-pack.
“Beautiful,” I whisper. I stare up into his eyes.
Something breaks and then roars to life in his gaze.
He grabs my head between his hands and slams his mouth down on mine, kissing me—no, devouring me—and I willingly let him take me.
Because I’m his.
And he is mine.
I slide my hands up his arms and to his shoulders. I hold him, my nails digging into his skin, needing more of him…all of him.
His erection is pressed up against my stomach, and it’s a tease. I want to see him…feel him.
Lowering a hand between us, I tug on the waistband of his lounge pants. “Pants, too,” I breathe against his lips.
A low chuckle escapes his lips, and the sound thrills me.
“Bossy,” he murmurs.
“Get used to it.” I smile.
His hands leave my head and remove his lounge pants.