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A brief examination of my face makes him smile.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
Now he says it?
“If you say so.”
“You do.”
I lift a strand of hair and start drawing arabesques on his pecs, tickling his chest. His nipples harden.
His lips curve into a soft smile.
“You’re looking for trouble,” he rasps, his eyes closed again. “I figure you don’t want us to leave,” he adds.
I shake my head.
He can’t tell. Or maybe he does, and that’s why he opens his eyes and looks at me.
He pushes closer to me, snakes his arms around my waist, and pulls me into his chest. His skin is warm and scented, his proximity making me feel good.
I bury my nose in his neck and close my eyes.
“I don’t want to go back either…” he confesses quietly, and I sense a ‘but’ coming my way.
“Don’t say anything else,” I murmur.
“I didn’t plan to.”
I chuckle.
“Good. We’ll go back,” I say.
“All right…”
Easier said than done when his fingers trail the long zipper up my back.
He pulls away from it and traces my hip and thigh before going back to my neck, my spine, my hip, and my thigh again.
I slide my fingers under his shirt and trail his back. His skin is getting warmer as I stroke his torso and his neck.
We’re both getting warmer.
“Maybe you should remove your dress,” he suggests.
“Yes… Maybe.”
I pull back a little, and my zipper falls open under his touch.
He slinks his fingers inside my dress and helps me out of it. Next, I drag it past my butt, and he removes it from my legs and drops it on the floor.
His gaze moves over my low-cut bra and the triangle of lace covering my slit.
Genuine regret glimmers in his eyes, making my chest tighten. The emotion vanishes at once, replaced by satisfaction and clear pleasure.
He moves his hand over my bra. The cups are soft with no wire or other obstacle against his touch.
Softness and warmth is all he finds.
