Something primal unfurls in my chest. I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs, my hands spanning her thighs. "Then let me take care of you."
She nods, breath hitching as I work the buttons of her shirt with deliberate slowness. With each inch of skin I reveal, I worship with my mouth until she's trembling in my arms me, whispering my name like a prayer.
The last button falls open, and I pause, drinking in the sight of her. Lace and smooth curves, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes are dark with want, but there's still a flicker of uncertainty there.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, voice rougher than gravel. "So damn beautiful it hurts to look at you."
She reaches for my belt buckle, fingers working the to remove my belt with more confidence now. "I want to see you too."
Once the belt is gone, she reaches for my shirt and let her push it off my shoulders, her palms mapping the planes of my chest, tracing old scars from ranch work and rodeo spills. When her thumb brushes over a particularly jagged line near my collarbone, I catch her wrist.
"That one's from a bull named Widow Maker," I murmur. "Caught his horn when I was nineteen, when I thought I was invincible."
"And this one?" Her finger trails along my ribs.
"Barbed wire. Last spring." I lean into her touch. "You asking for my whole history?"
"Maybe." Her smile is soft, intimate. "I like knowing the stories that made you."
Something shifts in my chest at that admission. I've had women touch me before, but none who wanted to know the why behind every mark, every piece of my past. The intimacy of it catches me off guard.
"You want stories?" I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "I'll give you every damn one if it means you keep looking at me like that."
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. "What if I can't give you the same? What if my stories are too complicated?"
"Then we'll untangle them together." I kiss her again, deeper this time, tasting the sweetness of her surrender. Her body melts against mine, all soft curves and heated skin.
I slide my hands down her sides, feeling the way she shivers under my touch. "Tell me what you want, Kassi."
She bites her lower lip, eyes searching mine. "I want you to touch me like you mean it."
"Baby, every touch means something." The endearment slips out before I can stop it, and I watch her pupils dilate in response. "Every damn one."
"Take me to your bed, Asher," she whispers.
I don't need to be asked twice. I lift her from the counter, her arms wound tight around my neck, legs still locked around my waist. She's lighter than I expected, but solid and real in my arms as I carry her down the hallway. Her mouth finds my neck, tongue flicking against my pulse point, and I nearly stumble.
I kick the bedroom door open with my boot, unwilling to set her down for even a second. The moonlight spills through the half-drawn curtains, painting silver streaks across her skin. When I lay her on my bed the reality of it hits me like a physical blow. Kassi, here, her hair fanning out across my pillow, her eyes dark and hungry.
"You sure about this?" I ask, voice barely above a growl as I brace myself above her.
Her answer is to reach up and pull me down to her, her kiss fierce and demanding. I groan into her mouth, tasting sweetness and need. My hand slides up her thigh, feeling the heat of her through the denim, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist.
"I want these off," she murmurs against my lips, tugging at my belt loops.
I straighten enough to strip off my jeans, watching as she does the same, shimmying out of hers with a grace that makes my mouth go dry
When we remove the last of our clothes, and the last barrier between us falls away, I pause, drinking her in. She's flushed and trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I press my palm flat against her stomach, feeling her muscles flutter under my touch.
"You're shaking," I murmur, concerned.
"Good shaking," she breathes, eyes never leaving mine. "The kind that means I want something so badly I can barely think straight."
I trace my fingers along her collarbone, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. "And what is it you want so badly?"
"You." The word comes out raw, honest. "All of you. I'm tired of being careful, tired of second-guessing everything."
I lean down, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat, tasting salty sweetness. "Then stop thinking," I murmur against her skin. "Just feel."