Right now, though, he was all man. Confident, sensual—and very much in command. She hoped he liked what she had worn, simple J.Jill casual clothes, with a flowing mauve skirt and top that hid her bigger parts but accentuated her face. She didn’t need to hide anything, with Mike (and that was the beauty of him), but she also felt unready to run around in crummy workout clothes or flannel jammies. Not yet.
Someday, though. Just not right now, as his hand burned a hot path on her skin, clit at the ready as if at attention and waiting for its next order. His warm sigh and low growl made her woozy. Or maybe that was the wine. At this point, it didn’t really matter which it was.
“Hot pink?” she gasped as his hand traveled under her skirt, flirting with her panties, one finger slipping under and—oh!
“Very hot,” he murmured, his lips against the corner of her mouth, her thighs quivering as one hand discovered exactly how wet she was for him, the other wrapped around her back, pinning her to him. She raised the stakes, too, by sliding her hand along his inseam, finding him hard and ready for her. Dinner? What dinner. The pasta could be purple with blue polka dots for all she cared.
He pulled back, hand slipping reluctantly from her thong, his face dark and playful all at once, with a mischievous look he pulled his hand to his lips and licked the fingertip, eyes locked on hers. Then Mike cocked his head, held his hand out for her to grasp, and nodded toward his bedroom.
“Shall we?”
I thought you’d never ask. “We shall,” she declared, clearing her throat as he twisted and pulled her gently through the doorway, the room obviously decorated by a guy, with thick leather, unfinished wood beams, and a stark, unlived-in look dominating. How long has he had this place? she wondered. It was like he’d just moved in. Too sterile.
A cream comforter with imprints of brown and green bears covered the bed, like something from a B&B that catered to ski people. The backs of her legs grazed it; soft and well worn. Mike reached out for her and, with a neutral, open expression on his face, slid his palms up her sweater, untying the sash where the wraparound stayed together, gently nudging it off her shoulders where it pooled on the floor.
His hands were so warm, his face open and inviting, intent on his actions as if making love in a meditative state. Laura knew that no matter what, one hundred percent of Mike’s attention was on her; he was so present it almost hurt, an awareness too deep and painful at times. Right now, though, she reveled in it, like finding the perfect patch of sunshine after a storm.
His hands moved under her t-shirt and slid up. She pulled her arms into position to take it off easily, his sigh the only reward she needed. Eventually, they would find their way into the bed. This dance of unveiling was worth the linger.
Reaching for his buttons, she imitated his actions, his skin softer than she remembered, the flesh tight and muscles hard beneath. As his arms folded and peeled off his shirt she watched a concert of twitches and stretches play out before her, like an artist’s rendering of male perfection—but real. His tan skin and long torso were achingly hot, looking up into his face as he bent down to kiss her like cocooning.
Nimble fingers unbuttoned his pants and unzipped him, his sharp inhale seeming to fuel the depth of his kiss, tongue pushing harder against hers and hands pressing her jaw as he tried to get a grip on what seemed like an overpowering urge. Nearly frantic, his hands made quick work of undressing her the rest of the way, leaving Laura completely naked within half a minute, Mike following after. So much for the linger.
The room was so warm that when he pulled her onto the bed, reclining in each others’ arms, she didn’t need the covers for comfort—but would have preferred them for modesty. You don’t need to hide, a voice said. It was Mike’s. In her head, though—he couldn’t have spoken, actually, because right now he was kissing her belly, his route revealing his intentions as he aimed for her womanhood.
A little sigh, almost a moan, escaped from her mouth, over her teeth and through her lips like a prayer as his hands roamed up her hips, palms and fingers splayed to take in her skin. She loved how he appreciated her body. Not tolerated—appreciated. Enjoyed.
Owned.
Her own hands were eager for more of him on them, fingers brushing against his neck, palms taking in his shoulders as—
Creak. The bedroom door opened slightly, then a footstep. She froze. Was someone else here? Mike seemed to hold his breath suddenly, though his hands continued to caress her.
To her complete mortification, Dylan walked into her line of sight.
Dylan?
She squinted, as if her eyes deceived her. Nude, in Mike’s arms —or, rather, with her legs in Mike’s face— Laura could have named five other people she’d expect to see walk through that door before she’d have anticipated Dylan.