Long seconds ticked away, broken only by the ragged sounds of their breathing. But then, finally, she said, “Yes.”
Easing back, he caught her hands and guided them down until she was the one holding her skirt up. A bright pink blush settled on her cheeks but she held his gaze as he lifted his eyes to look at her. “This skirt is going to drive me out of my fucking mind,” he said conversationally. “Just like that and you’re naked, you know that?”
A grin danced around her lips. “Well, that’s the thing about clothes. If you wear them, you’re clothed. If not, you’re naked.”
“This skirt ain’t much different.” It covered everything, but it was just a dream, really. One tug and it would fall away. But he didn’t want that. Not yet. Stepping back, he studied her, her skirt hiked up, baring the blush-colored fabric of her panties, the lush curve of her thighs and hips. Placing his hand on her belly, he continued to watch her as he eased his way down . . . down . . . down.
Her breath hitched in her chest, causing her breasts to rise and fall. He used one hand to nudge the straps of her tank down her shoulders. The pretty, lacy straps of her bra remained and he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the lace. “I want you naked, Abby.”
“Zach . . .”
He heard the hesitancy in her voice and he murmured, “Shhh . . . not yet. Not yet.”
He wasn’t rushing this. No way in hell.
Besides, he had just slid his hand inside Abby’s damned panties and he could feel the silky curls against his fingers and hot damn, he thought he just might come from that alone. “I’ve wanted this,” he muttered against her skin. Leaning in closer, he braced his free arm on the wall over her head and listened to her ragged sigh as he circled his index finger over the tight little bud of her clitoris.
She cried out, the sound of it bouncing off the walls around him. “Like that?” he murmured, giving her another slow stroke. Then he moved in a quicker, firmer rhythm and felt her buck against him. “Or like that?”
“Zach . . . please!”
She was hot as the desert sun under his touch, but slick and wet as rain, and so perfect. He wanted to go to his knees before her, taste her, worship her, love her . . . instead, he stayed where he was, forgetting about the rest of the world as he stroked his fingers over her sweet, swollen flesh.
Her nails bit into his sides, her hips rocking forward, fast, hungry. “Damn it, Zach,” she groaned.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes!”
“Push your panties down, then.” He kept his free arm on the wall. He wasn’t making love to her today, damn it. He’d finally gotten her to see him and this wasn’t going to be a onetime thing.
But he couldn’t listen to that hungry, desperate plea in her voice, either.
Her hands were shaking as she reached for the waistband of her panties, stretched tight around his hand. He held still as she pushed them down but then they caught around her knees and she swayed as she shimmied her way out of them. Feeling the soft, warm weight of her body as he braced himself against her was almost his undoing.
Almost.
He held on through will alone. Teeth gritted, eyes closed, he kept his face buried against her neck until he thought he could continue without losing what little control he maintained.
“Spread your legs, sugar.”
He felt her weight shift and then he lifted his head, stared into her eyes. Soon, damn it, he told himself as he eased his finger down and started to circle her entrance. Soon he’d be preparing her to take him inside . . . not just his finger, but him. All of him.
And please, please . . . let her want to keep him. Forever.
Because he couldn’t think about that and keep her from seeing more than he was ready to show her, he shoved it all aside and focused just on this. The slick, clenched feel of her sex as he pushed one finger inside. She tightened around him and the feel of it was sheer bliss, glory . . . perfection. He wanted more. Needed it, but he settled for burying his finger inside her and then slowly retreating. Then again . . . again . . . as she