military inspection.”
“No worries. I’m not the neat freak in my family. My...”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, she glanced over her shoulder and found him frowning. Nice going, Yates. You had a very sexy man all hot and bothered five minutes ago, then ruined the moment with your inane chatter about housekeeping.
“Danica.” His gaze bore into hers, troubled. “There’s—”
“Sorry,” she interrupted. “I don’t know why I’d waste a single second thinking about something like laundry or dusting when I could be doing this.” She stepped toward him, not stopping until their bodies touched. His hips cradled hers, the heat of him potent even through his jeans, and her breasts were cushioned against the unyielding muscular wall of his chest.
She meshed her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Not that it required any effort. He was already lowering his face to hers. But at the last minute, he shifted direction. Instead of meeting her lips, he kissed her jaw and worked his way down the excruciatingly sensitive line of her neck. He bit gently, then less gently, and she trembled. His hands palmed her butt, kneading, making her inwardly curse her skirt. She wanted closer contact, wanted to wrap her legs around him.
He lifted his head long enough to ask, “You’re sure? That you want me?” There was an oddly vulnerable emphasis to his words, but she was too lost in sensation to analyze it.
He couldn’t tell the effect he had on her? Her pulse was thundering, and she was so wet, she half expected to scent the musky perfume of her own arousal. Her voice was hoarse but audible. “Never been more sure of anything.”
That was obviously the permission he’d needed. His mouth captured hers, feasting. The kiss they shared was deep and wet and gloriously carnal. Not breaking the contact between them, she shuffled back a step with vague thoughts of her bedroom on the far side of the living room. His hands fisted in the hem of her camisole. She obligingly raised her arms, ending the kiss long enough for him to lift the material over her head.
They’d moved away from the slight glow of lamplight in the doorway, but even in the shadows, Gray growled approval at the sight of her breasts covered only by pale blue demi cups. He outlined the swell of one breast, and her nipples contracted to even tighter points. She shifted her weight restlessly, slick with need. It was inexplicable, how the delicate brush of his finger over her skin could trigger such a powerful response. He circled one rigid tip, and she arched her back, reflexively offering herself up for further exploration.
But when he slid his fingers beneath the cotton of her bra, pinching lightly, it was almost too much. She nearly lost her balance.
“W-wait.” Clutching his arm for support, she raised a foot and unstrapped first one high-heeled sandal, then the other. Pivoting, she kicked them under the coffee table by the couch so they weren’t lying in the path to the bedroom. This evening was going to end in mind-blowing orgasms, not someone tripping over discarded shoes.
Before she could turn back around to face him, his hands settled on her denim-clad hips. He kissed his way from one shoulder blade to the other. He traced her spine to the top of her skirt, then pointedly tugged the waistband.
She reached for the button above the zipper but paused. “I feel underdressed, comparatively speaking.” Twisting to look back at him, she grinned. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
He whipped off his shirt and balled it up, tossing it in the general vicinity of the coffee table. As he quickly stripped off socks and shoes and fumbled with his belt, she watched over her shoulder. She greedily drank in the sight of his chiseled chest and abs, cursing herself for not turning on more lights. The man was living art. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest dusted in dark hair that added to his virile air. His torso tapered to an impressively ridged six-pack that she would have assumed was airbrushed if she’d seen it in a photo.
When he stepped out of the jeans, her eyes widened in renewed appreciation at the erection outlined in snug boxer briefs. He was male perfection. And, for tonight, he was hers.
“Your skirt,” he said, his voice thick with expectation.
She gave a quick shimmy, letting the unzipped skirt slide down her legs. He hauled her closer, so that they were pressed together. She swiveled her hips, grinding against him, hearing the way he sucked in his breath, loving that his reaction to her was every bit as strong as hers to him. He reached between them to unhook her bra. Her muscles were so taut with anticipation she struggled to shrug free of the material. He skimmed his fingers over her midriff, upward. But before he reached her breasts, he changed direction. She let him get away with a second teasing pass before grabbing his hands and cupping them over her. His low chuckle, more vibration than sound, rumbled through her.
He plucked at one nipple, making her gasp. “Is that more what you had in mind?” he murmured against her ear.
Yes. She arched into his touch, words escaping her when he repeated the movement, this time tweaking both at once while he kissed her shoulder. She rocked back against him, the movement more instinct than conscious volition. He slid a hand past her hipbone, his fingers curling beneath the thin fabric of her panties to graze her skin.
She was both frantic for him to reach the throbbing juncture between her legs and a touch apprehensive that, once he did, she’d ignite like a roman candle. She had a fanciful image of herself, sated in boneless aftermath, her apartment a smoldering ruin around her. When he began lowering her panties, she had a moment of clarity.
“Condoms,” she blurted. That was nonnegotiable, something they needed to agree on before either of them was fully naked.
“Of course.” His acceptance was immediate, although his voice was gruff. “Jeans pocket. In a minute. First...” His fingers parted the dewy folds at her core, expertly targeting where she was most sensitive. She whimpered, moving against him with primal urgency, reaching out blindly for a way to steady herself.
He steered her toward the couch and splayed his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward. She bent over the arm of the sofa, the leather cool against her bare skin. He eased a finger inside her, and she bit her lip.
“Condoms,” she repeated. Now.
“Right.” His voice echoed with the same hunger surging through her.
She heard the rustle of his jeans, the thud of a wallet hitting the floor, the discreet rip of foil. His talented fingers returned, working their magic and heightening the frenzied need inside her until she almost screamed into the sofa cushion. Then he gripped her hips in a hold that bordered on bruising and thrust into her.
He withdrew partially, then pushed back even deeper. It felt so damn good. As their rhythm increased, she raised her hips to meet him, their bodies coming together with enough force to send her up on her toes. Already, a wicked, shimmering pressure was building, spreading through her body as she tightened around him. He reached around her, his fingers stroking just above where they were joined, and she cried out. The pressure broke, exploding in ripples of pleasure that radiated through every cell of her body.
Somewhere in the glittery starburst of bliss, as Gray pistoned his hips again and found his own release, she had a single coherent thought. Pretending that nothing had happened when she saw him again on Monday would be a problem. Having experienced this shattering, all-consuming ecstasy, how would she ever have a simply platonic exchange with him again?
