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I'd argue that I didn't get it how I wanted it last time, but the fire building in his eyes and the thickness between his legs urge me to see what he has to offer instead.
My body feels like it's on fire when he urges me to my feet and his fingers begin to work open the buttons on my shirt. When I lift my hands to open the button on my slacks, he swats my hands away, a clear indication that he wants to be the one to strip me naked.
I let him, despite it sparking an edge of inhibition with every inch of skin he exposes. I've seen this man without a shirt on, and he's a picture of perfect health. I don't have time to get a good night's sleep much less add an exercise routine into my daily life. I run myself ragged both at the bar and at the vet clinic, but although that helps me stay on the thinner side, it does nothing to tighten and make me look more fit.
I keep my head up, my eyes on his face while he watches me.
He pushes my shirt over my shoulders and I don't bother stopping it from hitting the floor at our feet. He looks entranced as he traces his finger over the top of my bra, the attention making gooseflesh chase after his touch.
I can't suck in my stomach and hold it because I'm at the point of panting, so I don't even bother.
"So fucking perfect," he praises, in a tone so reverent that it makes me want to believe him.
His teeth dig into his lower lip, making me crave the bite of them on my skin, as he pulls one strap off my shoulder, his other hand going to my hip so he can pull me closer.
The man has barely touched me, yet he could easily reach between my legs and gather the flood of arousal that has accumulated there.
"Walker," I plead when he seems quite content to simply look at me and trace my skin with the tip of a single finger.
"You drive me insane," he whispers just as my nipple is exposed.
He leans forward, mouth trailing over my neck and shoulder rather than jumping right to sucking the peaked bud into his hot mouth.
It feels like more teasing, more playing, more torture, and I battle against wanting more of it and getting frustrated that he's taking so long to get to other parts. I won't even think good parts because God as my witness, they're all good parts.
At some point, his expert fingers unclasp my bra and it joins my shirt on the floor.
He groans into my breast when I press my hands to his belly, letting one finger dip into the gap between the buttons, and draw circles on his heated skin.
He steps back, replacing my hands on the front of his shirt when they fall away at the distance he created.
"Take it off," he says, his tone a demand and a plea all at the same time.
I work to get his shirt off, understanding his position, as each tan inch of him is revealed with every button coming undone. The anticipation is almost as good as I know the reward will be. We're in no rush. There's nothing either of us have to do tonight other than worship the other. My philosophy is if you're going to make mistakes, you might as well make the best of them before the consequences come calling for their pound of flesh.
"This isn't fair," I whisper, watching my finger as it traces the ridges of his muscles.
"You seem to like them," he says, his voice heavy with need. "That seems pretty damn fair to me."
I press my lips to his chest, letting my hands travel around his back which is just as muscular as the front side of him. I don't imagine this guy ever skips a day at the gym.
Instead of asking why he doesn't walk around shirtless all the time, because just thinking about it sparks a level of jealousy of other women seeing him that way and I can't even let myself get lost in those ideas, I reach for the zipper on the front of his slacks.
He groans when I slip my hand behind the fabric of his boxer briefs, and I pull in a sharp breath at the warmth of his skin against my palm. The man has been blessed with more than just a great metabolism. He's thick and heavy in my palm. The wetness on the tip of him makes the inner voice that whispered to me that he wasn't satisfied the first time disappear.
"Tighter," he urges when I wrap my hand around him. "That sweet pussy of yours grips me harder than that."
My breathing stutters with his words, and when I look up at his eyes, I see nothing but sincerity. He doesn't have to say a word to convince me that we should be doing this. I'm letting my body lead the way. His words are coated in the truth, the tone of them hungry for more of what he’s already had.
"Let's get in the shower," he urges as I take a step back. "I spilled no less than half a dozen drinks on me tonight.
He did seem a little more on edge tonight, even before Barrett came up and showed his ass, but it wasn't my place to question his behavior.
I feel more than a little feral watching him pull his cock back into his pants so he can work the button open and shove them down his thighs.
I chuckle when he has to pull them back up some to get his boots off. Instead of leaving them in a pile, he gathers his clothes and tosses them onto the chair a few feet away.
I'm not self-conscious about how small my house is because the man isn't here to evaluate the way I live, but I do chew on my lip a little when I'm fully naked and he follows me into the bathroom.
