Page 215 of When Love Takes Root

She reached for the hem of her dress.

“Red.”

“No.” Quiet, firm. “You told me not to run.” I swallowed. “I’m not running tonight.”

She pulled the dress over her head.

The sight of her in gold lace and brown skin nearly took my soul with it.

My hands curled against my thighs.

She noticed and smiled. “You struggling?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I exhaled a weak laugh. “You feeling bold.”

“I’m feeling loved.” That shut me up. She came closer, placed one knee beside my hip, and lifted my chin. “I want to love you back.”

She kissed me slow, deliberate, like patience had something to prove. When she settled over my lap, I gripped her waist and fought for what little restraint I had left.

“You know what you’re doing?”

She rocked once.

My head fell back.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Celeste.”

She kissed my jaw, then my neck. “Talk to me, baby.”

That word again.

Baby.

Warm. Wicked.

My body answered before my mind could.

I lifted my hips; her breath broke.

“You want me to tell you what you’re doing to me?”

Her hands worked at my belt. “Yes.”

I helped her, saved, not slow.

She laughed softly, pushed my sweater up, and kissed down my chest.

At first, I tried to watch her with sense. I tried to keep my breathing even, tried to keep my hands loose at my sides, tried to remember I was a man of discipline and not somebody’s undone testimony waiting to happen.

Then she sank between my knees.

My breath caught so hard my chest stuttered.