She’s going to find out.
Her chest pushes against her fitted black dress as she takes a deep breath. I’m not going to be able to stand here much longer. I’m desperate to move in.
Shifting again, her neck flexes, the taut expanse of smooth flesh at her throat begging me to place my mouth there. She’s psyching herself up. But she’s still edgy.
“Relax, Ava,” I say softly. “You know you want this.” I take tentative steps toward her, my hands twitching, ready to take hold of that small waist. Our eyes are locked. I’m not breaking this connection. My body is singing, my headspace flooded with her and her alone. I feel wobbly with the rush of returned sensations. Unstable. High as a kite on lust and anticipation.
When I’m a few feet away from her, I see her tense more, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, her gaze drifts upward as I get closer until I’m towering over her. I don’t touch her. Instead, I get our bodies as close as I can, but it’s taking every fucking bit of effort I possess not to grab her.
“Turn around,” I order softly.
I let out a quiet, relieved breath when she slowly pivots, giving me her back and the zip of her dress. My eyes skate the length of her spine, my blood burning. I feel wary and euphoric.
I’m enthralled. Spellbound.
I’ve not touched her, am almost scared to, because something deep and unsettling inside is telling me that if I do, I might not ever let go. I need to maintain this rapture. I need to feel my heart beat this hard every day.
I watch as her shoulders solidify and hear as her breaths turn harsh. I’m matching her reactions with my own.
She makes to turn back toward me, and my hands fly up fast, my palms resting on her shoulders. We both jolt with the contact, and I clench my eyes closed, blood starting to whoosh in my ears. I slowly release a hand, silently pleading for her to stay exactly where she is. She does. No fight.
Reaching forward, I scoop her hair up, the shiny, dark locks that match her eyes, feeling like silk on my palm. I let it tumble down her front, my eyes fixed on the bare skin of her nape, and as much as I want to kiss it, I need to take this slowly. I’m not doing anything that will freak her out. I should laugh at my own audacity. I’ve cornered the poor woman and presented myself to her half-naked. You don’t get more audacious than that. And yet... she’s still here.
But still so tense. I need to soften her up, so I start slowly rubbing away the tightness in her shoulder, smiling to myself when I see her head roll and then hear a slight purr coming from those lips—the lips I want to devour. She likes it, so I increase the pressure and move my mouth to her ear.
When her face turns into mine and her pants of hot air spread across my face, I lose the battle not to voice my lingering fears. “Don’t stop this.”
She starts trembling under my hold. “I don’t want to.” Her answer is soft but sure, and I deflate, my perplexing anxiety leaving me. I knew deep down she was with me in this, but those words have filled a huge void of doubt. And every amazing thing I feel when in this woman’s orbit intensifies.
“It’s a good job. I don’t think I’d let you.” I push myself into her back, my mouth falling straight to her ear again. “I’m going to take your dress off now.” I catch her nod and clamp down lightly on her lobe. “You’re too fucking beautiful, Ava.” I skim my lips across her ear.
“Oh God,” she breathes, leaning on me and pushing her lower back into my groin.
Good lord, I’m suddenly throbbing, my jaw ready to shatter like glass from the harshness of my bite. “Do you feel that?” I push into her, and she moans. “I’m going to have you, lady.” I’m sober and the most turned on I’ve ever been. She’s magic. A cure.
My savior?
I blink and place a fingertip at the top of her spine, drawing a perfect line down her back, nodding mildly as the signs of her craving moves up a level. Her skin is on fire beneath this dress. I can feel her need, smell her anticipation. I take the zipper, placing my free hand on her hip. She jerks, and my grip firms up, making sure I hold her in place. She can’t run, not now. I gently tug the zip down and slide my hands onto her bare flesh beneath it, flexing my fingers before pushing the material away from her body and letting it drop to the floor.
Oh fucking hell.
I knew it.
Lace.
I can’t control the sharp breath that’s just escaped. “Lace,” I whisper. God, she is fucking glorious in lace. Grabbing her waist, I lift her slight frame, freeing her ankles of her dress. She feels so right in my hold, like she’s been molded to fit perfectly in my grasp. I need to see her face again. Need to see the lust in her eyes, her craving, her desperation. And, God, she really needs to see mine.
I turn her around slowly, taking in every inch of her skin as I do. She’s focused on my lips. She wants to kiss me. I’ve got her, and I’m going to take my sweet time savoring every fucking moment of this.
My hand rises and finds her breast, my finger painting perfect circles around the rim of her nipple. Her body concaves with her tiny gasp, her eyes studying my fascinated face. I want to touch her as much as I want to slam into her. I want to run my hands over every square inch of her body, kiss her from head to toe, lose myself in her, and hold her while we both recover from what I know is going to be a universe-shaking experience.
I take her other breast, and I’m slightly shocked when her hands lift and rest on my chest.
Shit. Fucking shit.
I’m the one flinching now, and the look of satisfaction that flashed across her face is like a shot of adrenalin. She knows she’s affecting me too, but does she know that this is absolutely unheard of?
I turn her around. “I want to see you,” she breathes.