Page 186 of His Good Girl

I shivered.

“There she is,” he purred.

“You’re very smug.”

“I’m very correct.”

“You’re also not allowed to tear this one off,” I said quickly, because his hand had found the waistband of the skirt and history had given me very reasonable concerns.

“I’ll be careful.”

That should not have sounded filthy, but it absolutely did.

He kissed me then, and the kiss took my breath away. His mouth moved over mine, devouring me gently as he lifted me onto the edge of the table with one strong, smooth motion. I laughed against his mouth because the absurdity of it hit me all at once.

“What?” he asked.

“We are in a very expensive restaurant.”

“We are in a very private room.”

“There is a tart.”

“It can wait.”

I laughed again, and his face softened with such open pleasure that my chest ached. His hands moved to my knees, easing them apart with patient certainty as much as he was able, which was not much in this skirt. He stared into my eyes, and I bit my lip.

“Tell me,” he commanded, voice low.

My pulse leapt. “Tell you what?”

“That you want this.”

I looked at him, almost smiling. “I just agreed to marry you.”

“I know.”

“I changed into the skirt.”

“I know.”

“And you still need me to say it?”

“Yes.”

My throat tightened and I touched his face with my left hand, the ring brushing against his jaw.

“I want this,” I answered him. “I want you. I want us. I want to argue with you about work and toothpaste, let you take me to dinner and wear pencil skirts that make you forget your own rules. I want you to put me over your knee when I need it and show me no mercy. I want you on me and in me in any way you want. I want all of it. I want all of you.”

His eyes closed briefly and when he opened them, the control in him was still there. It would always be there. But now it belonged to both of us.

“Good.”

He lowered his mouth to mine again, and the city, the scandal, the old grief, the glass walls, the photographs, the headlines, the frightened girl with the bad resume and the impossible crush, all of it fell away until there was only candlelight, his hands, my ring, and the black pencil skirt he did not tear because I had asked him not to. He was careful, but he was not gentle.

“Stand up for me,” he commanded when his mouth finally left mine.

I stood on shaky legs.