“You’re shaking, little love.” His voice is as soft as a summer shower. “I know how you feel.”
I can’t make out his expression, his face half in shadow, half pressed against me, but in his voice, I hear nothing but certainty.
“You look so perfect tonight.” His thumb begins to toy with the button of my dress, and I arch with a soft sigh, almost daring him. “I can’t believe I let you walk away from me. Walk away with him.”
One flick, and the button comes loose.
One button, two.
“If you didn’t like it, you could’ve stayed away.”
His laughter sounds like mocking. “You think I have a choice in this?”
Three buttons, four.
My dress gapes to my navel, revealing my black lacy bra, the sight of it in the mirror creating a tiny explosion of delight deep inside.
“Hot.” He huffs out a growling compliment as his pinkie finger trails down my bare skin. Need, sweet and sticky, follows.
“You know what they say. If her bra and panties match, it wasn’t you who decided to have sex.” The corner of his mouth lifts in wry amusement. Dammit, talk about a Freudian slip. “Wait, I meant—”
“You’re saying this was for him?” My body turns rigid at his scornful one, then melts at the brush of his lips against my neck. “That he pulled over in some darkened country lane. Passion steaming up the windows of that big truck of his?”
“Truck envy, Roman? So predictable.”
“I’m not envious, little love. Check whose arms you’re in.”
“Why the interest?”
“Because I want to hear you tell me you were thinking of me as you slipped these pretty panties up your legs.”
I trade his growling demand for a tiny burst of mean-sounding laughter. I am so turned on, my taunt skims fast, like a stone over a pond. “It sounds like you’re dying to know.”
His low chuckle is a caress across my skin, and when I decide I don’t need his answer, he gives it to me anyway. “What I’m dying for is a taste.”
My soul, I’m pretty sure it ascends. Dead. I’m dead. Except spirits don’t feel such base need, don’t respond to such audacity as he handles my body like it belongs to him.
Five, six buttons.
The sides of my dress fall apart. I bite back a sigh as his hands skate over my hips in a shiver-inducing caress. In the mirror, my body jerks as he pulls me against him, hard meeting soft. Possession meeting compliance.
“God, I want you.” I hear the truth in his words, feel it in the grip of his fingertips and see it in the darkening of his gaze. I return the sentiment in the hitch of my breath as his lips begin to tantalise my neck.
In the mirror, it’s hard to know what to look at in this visual treat. Do I revel in the way his dark eyes watch me? Or should I stare at the wanton woman in the mirror, half undressed and fully invested in his touch?
His fingers skate artfully over the front of my panties, my body chasing, craving. Sighing as they slide higher and higher. He lightly cups my breasts, and I arch against him, pressing fully into his palms. I am consumed by sensation, my desire somehow heavy and light at the same time. Light and teasing where the sides of my dress flutter against my thighs, and ripe, almost voluptuous where he cups me, his thumbs gliding over the sensitive peak of my nipple. He takes the hard buds between his forefinger and thumb, and my head falls back, a whimper knotting in my throat. My bracelets chime as I slide my hands between us, gripping over his hard length. I and am rewarded by the most beautiful sound. Masculine and full of longing, and all for me. Because of me. I want to bottle it, swallow it down. Keep the power always with me.
“I want it.” My insides pulse as I demand; my whisper only intended as thought. But he’s so hard in my hand, the feel of him making my skin hum.
“It’s all yours, little love.” In the mirror, he’s all angles and darkness as he flexes into my hand.
“Please, Roman.” Give it to me, right now, right here. Throw me down on the bed and fuck this madness out of me.
His dark laughter raises a wash of goosebumps over my skin, and he meets my tightened grip on his cock with a sharp tug to my nipples. “Don’t tease,” he whispers, though it’s barely an admonishment.
I whimper a needy, ragged sound as his hands slip away, gliding down my body. “Who’s teasing who?”
“Asks the woman who went on a date with another man.” I can’t help the small smile that curls on my lips, but it isn’t there long as his hand slips between my legs to grip my pussy. “With the wrong man.”