Her hands explored, trailing over muscle and ink, setting every nerve ending on fire. When her fingers brushed over a nipple, I hissed.
“Like that?” she asked.
“Yeah. I like that.” But I needed more. I needed everything.
I grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off then made short work of her bra. There hadn’t been time yesterday to properly worship her. I placed my hands under her breasts, lifting them. They overflowed my hands when I cupped them. Soft, perfect curves that I was going to spend hours enjoying.
I wanted to fuck them. Wanted to push my cock between them and watch her tongue come out to lick the head just like she had the popsicle. I wanted to come all over them and watch it drip down her skin. A filthy thought, but that’s what she did in me. Washed away the civilized veneer. Brought everything back to the basics. A man wanting a woman.
I leaned my head back and groaned.
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Just a very x-rated thought brought on about you sucking that damn popsicle.”
Her eyes went wide, then she smiled. That fascinating curve of her mouth that was both innocent and seductive all at one.
“Should we start list?”
I laughed. “Yeah, we should. Later. So much later.”
“Fuck yeah,” she breathed.
“Let me look at you.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, the color spreading down her neck to her chest. But she didn’t fight me.
I looked. Really looked. Memorized every curve, every freckle, the way her breathing made her breasts rise and fall.
“You’re perfect,” I said.
She looked at me like she didn’t quite believe me. Like she’d heard those words before from men who hadn’t meant them.
Men who probably saw the soft fullness of her body as a compromise instead of the ultimate fucking prize. I could see the tiny shadow of doubt in her eyes, the echo of some corporate asshole making her feel like she took up too much space in the world.
I wasn’t softening anything.
“Hey.” I caught her chin. “I mean it.”
“Bridger—”
“Every curve. Every perfect part of you.” My hand slid down her side, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. “I want you Roxie. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”
Before she could say anything else, I scooped her up and carried her up the rest of the stairs. When I reached my bedroom, I didn’t turn on the lights. The afternoon sun streaming through the windows.
I laid her on my bed and stopped to take in the moment. She was there. Finally. Right where she belonged. Hair spread across my pillow. Lips swollen from my kisses. Her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Half-naked in my bed.
Mine.
“Bridger, come here.”
I climbed onto the bed, caging her in with my arms, and kissed her. Slow this time. Taking my time to taste her, to feel her soften beneath me.
When I pulled back, her eyes were dark with want. She had never looked more beautiful.
I kissed down her jaw. Her neck. Sucked on the spot where her pulse hammered. She arched into me, her hands sliding into my hair.
I kissed down to her breasts and paused. “I’ve always been a breast man,” I said, glancing up at her. “And yours are fucking incredible.”