“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, thick eyelashes sweeping down as he stared intently at her.
“I want you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.” He ran his finger along her top lip to prove it.
“More,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “I want more.”
“More what?”
God, this man knew how to set her on fire. With his words, his gaze, his touch. It was as though her body was hollow before he came along, her mind waiting for his thoughts, her skin waiting for his touch.
It couldn’t just be hormones. Hormones didn’t make your heart swell inside your chest. They didn’t make your throat feel tight because it was hard to breathe every time you looked at him. He wasn’t just a scratch to itch anymore, he was so much more.
She ached for him.
“Harper.”
“Kiss me, James.”
This time, when their mouths met there was a softness, a sweetness that hadn’t been there before. His kiss was gentle, almost lazy, as he took his time to savor her. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head to the right angle. She could feel his hot fingers splayed against her cheek, branding her, as he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips to deepen the kiss.
Her legs shook, and she had to grasp onto his arms to steady herself. His biceps flexed beneath her hands, reminding her how strong he was. It was easy to forget when he was so gentle. With his hand still cupping her face, he tilted it back, sliding his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking her throat until every cell in her body began to sing.
“You taste sweet,” he murmured. “Like a damn fruit bowl.”
“I’ve been bingeing on candy.” She laughed, but the sound died in her mouth as he moved his hand down her throat, along her chest, to the aching swell of her breasts. When he brushed his fingers against the aching peaks of her nipples, she gasped.
“I love that sound,” he told her, lifting his head to kiss her lips again. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger, making her moan. Swallowing her cries, he lifted her onto the sewing table, pushing away the scraps of fabric and spools of cotton that littered the surface. She hooked her thighs around his waist as he pressed himself against her, his thick ridge hard and demanding against her core. “Can you feel it?” he whispered. “How much I want you.”
She nodded and he kissed her again, sliding his hands inside her shirt, his fingers feather-soft against her skin. Then he was unfastening her shirt, his movements deft, until it fell open to reveal her creamy abdomen. His eyes darkened as he traced the center of her stomach, rising up and then falling again to her breasts.
“Can I take this off?” he asked her, his fingers toying at the bottom of her bra.
“Do what you want,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”
His jaw tightened at her words, his chest pressing out as he took in a deep inhale. With practiced fingers, he unfastened her bra, pulling the straps down her arms until she was free, her nipples hardening as the air caressed them. He ran his palms over their peaks, then slid them down to cup the weight of her breasts. “Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward to capture her nipple between his lips. Oh the sucking, the delightful pull of him. It made her cry out.
“Take your shirt off,” she told him, tugging at the hem. He lifted his arms, allowing her to expose the hard ridges of his stomach, the thick steel of his pectorals, the skin peppered with hair.
The next moment his chest was pressed against hers, warm and taut and everything she needed. His mouth devoured hers. His sighs matched her own as she ran her fingers down the muscles of his back.
God, he was hard. She couldn’t help but squirm against him. Loving how the pleasure shot down her thighs, her calves, sparking in the curl of her toes. Sliding her hands to the front of his jeans, she tugged at his belt. But he pulled her hands away. His eyes narrowed with desire, his hands pulling at her own jeans.
“You first,” he said gruffly. “Then me.”
It wasn’t a command. More a matter of fact. But she liked the way he took the lead, making her feel like she was a piece of fragile china in his hands. He tugged at her jeans as she lifted up her behind, allowing the denim to slide down her legs.
He was kissing her again, his hands fumbling at his belt, as though he couldn’t bear to release her and concentrate on what he was doing. As he took his jeans off, she hooked her hands over his shoulders, marveling at the taut warmth of his skin as it stretched across his muscles. Then they were naked, apart from their underwear, their bodies pressed together.
“You okay?” he asked as he stroked her face, moving his hands down until he captured her breasts once more. She closed her eyes, feeling the pleasure of his touch on her tender skin, her back arching at the sensation.
He slid his fingers down her stomach, then to her core. Just a brush of his fingers against her was enough to make her gasp, her thighs tightening around his hips as he pressed harder against her.
“James,” she whispered, the desire for him coiling inside her. “Please…I need…”
“What do you need?”
“You. I need you.”