thank god. Instead, her breath catches, and she surrenders more of herself with each heartbeat. I haul her against my body, splay my palms across her back, eliminating any hint of air or light between us…and work down until I’m cupping her ass.
Once her lush backside fills my palms, I rock my aching cock against her pussy. She whimpers and digs her fingers into me as if she’ll never let me go.
Masey’s need drives mine higher. She’s so fucking potent. I kiss her again. Again. And again. I can’t stop. Every time I fill her mouth and take more of her flavor, desire jolts me. But there’s something bigger and sharper between us that’s destroying my composure and crumbling my defenses…
I tear my lips away. Our stares meet. We’re both panting and stunned.
But I couldn’t stop this now if my life depended on it.
“Tell me you’re still with me,” I demand.
“Yes.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“Yes, but I need you to be honest. When we were in the bar, I know you said you wanted me, but if you’re only with me now because Harlow asked you to and you feel sorry for me—”
“No. Nothing like that, honey. I want to be all over you. I want to be inside you.” Right now, I want to own every inch of her, too, even if that makes no sense.
“A few minutes ago, I told myself to walk away. I meant to. And then you kissed me and now I”—she bites her lip—“don’t think I can.”
“We’re both beyond that. What are you wearing under my shirt? Show me.” When she hesitates, I lean closer and breathe in her ear, “I dare you.”
She gasps. “That’s low.”
Because she’s not good at resisting a challenge.
“C’mon, honey. Pull my shirt over your head and show me everything underneath.”
Masey hesitates, still nibbling that lip. “If I do?”
“I’ll make you glad you did.”
Silence. Masey doesn’t move. I don’t breathe. An expectant moment stretches between us.
Finally, she crosses her arms at her waist, grabs handfuls of my overlarge shirt, and begins drawing it up her body. My breath catches as she slowly reveals sleek thighs, lush hips, and the pink thong I barely glimpsed last night. It’s lacy, tight, and more transparent than not. The little-girl bow at the top nearly makes me swallow my tongue.
But she keeps going, flat stomach, sharp indentation of her waist, and a mysterious innie of a naval. Then she pauses.
I can’t take it. She’s too slow. This is torture. It’s all I can do not to wrest the goddamn cotton from her hands and rip the T-shirt off her body.
But Masey doesn’t have my experience. She’s been through a lot. As much as it kills me, she needs to do this at her pace.
“Keep going,” I encourage. “More.”
“If I don’t?” I hear the sudden tease in her tone.
She’s toying with me. Does she know that’s dangerous?
“I’ll do it for you.” My eyes narrow. “Before I put my mouth all over you.”
Masey hesitates again. My impatience ratchets up. My need flares. Finally, she drags my T-shirt higher, revealing the lacy band at the bottom of her bra. Underwires and decorative supports hold up breasts even more generous than yesterday’s red dress suggested. They’re damn near spilling out of the cups.
I ogle and gape as she finally tugs the shirt over her head and, with a toss of her dark hair, drops it to the floor. I stare at her, skin gleaming like a pearl in the shadowy bedroom, her curves calling my name.
Oh, holy fuck. I hit the jackpot.
“Trace?” With a classic nibble on her lip, she wraps her arms around herself. “Say something.”
“I hope you’re ready for what’s about to happen.” Because I’m going to spend all night making her scream for me.
“I think I am.”
She probably does. But hell, I’m not even sure I’m ready for this. It’s going to be intense.
“It’s your turn,” she murmurs.
I raise a brow at her. “To take my shirt off?”
A smile creeps across her swollen mouth. “For starters.”
I don’t hesitate. I’d rather peel every stitch off and pounce on her, but I have to downshift. She needs a slow-burn seduction. She already knows what it’s like to be rushed. But to be driven to the edge of her sanity by a pleasure she can’t deny or control? She has no clue, and that’s what I want to give her.
At least I’m good for that.
I reach behind my head, fist my T-shirt, then pull it off, tossing it