I hold out my arms. “Now what?”
Her heavy-lidded eyes flick up the length of my torso as she stands, flattening her palm on my stomach. “Now we do whatever the fuck we want.”
“In that case.” I grab her shirt and hike it up, revealing her bra. I hike that up too, revealing her full tits and petal-pink nipples that turn up slightly at the ends. My skin seems to shrink at the sight, my brain short-circuiting.
I need.
I need to taste.
Her her her.
Leaning down, I take her nipple in my mouth. She gasps, hand roving over my stomach, and I bite down, making her roll her hips against me.
I look up to see her grinning down at me, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her hair is everywhere, and she has chocolate on her cheek. She looks wild. A little unhinged.
She looks happy. As happy as this sense of real, deep connection makes me feel. I feel seen, known. Cared for.
Moving to her other nipple, I glide a hand into the front of her leggings and part her with my middle finger. She’s as wet and hot as she was at the warehouse.
“Fuck,” I growl, heart contracting. “Did I not take care of this properly?”
Her brows snap together. “You took care of it perfectly. So much so, I want”—I graze her clit, and her breath catches—“more.”
“Then you’ll get more.” I gently guide her leggings over her ass, giving her cheek a quick squeeze. She must’ve taken off her boots while I showered, and this time I’m able to take off her leggings with ease, gliding them down her legs. She hikes her shirt over her head while I work, and I kiss my way back up her body, standing so I can reach behind her to unhook her bra.
It takes me a minute because my hands are shaking. She’s just so fucking beautiful. But more than that, she trusts me. It’s faith I don’t deserve, but she gives it to me freely, willingly, and it makes me want to trust myself. Which is ironic because I have no idea what’s right and wrong anymore. Twelve hours ago, I felt like I had such a solid grasp on the future. I made my choices, and I believed they were the right ones.
Only . . . maybe they weren’t. If I was heading in the right direction, I wouldn’t be here, would I? I wouldn’t feel this good with my hands on a woman I walked out on two years ago.
I nearly holler with relief when the clasp on Milly’s bra finally releases. Our bare bodies immediately seek each other out, Milly looping her arms around my neck as she presses her breasts against my chest. My skin ignites at the feel of skin on skin, my dick grazing her belly after I take half a step forward, resting my hands on the swell of her ass.
She presses a kiss to my mouth that’s fevered, hungry, and my balls curl up into my body, begging for release. How am I this turned on again? And why won’t my hands quit shaking?
Her pubic hair brushes against my thigh, and I’m reminded that she needs more. We both do.
I move my hands to the back of her thighs and I lift her at the same moment she jumps from the balls of her feet, wrapping her legs around my waist. We still know how to move together without saying a damn thing.
Makes my chest hurt, being known this way.
Milly digs her hands into my hair, running her fingernails over my scalp. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and goose bumps break out on my skin, not from cold but from almost unbearable pleasure.
I move my mouth to her neck, spreading her legs even more to pull her against me, and I feel her pussy open, her slick heat pressing against my belly.
I must blackout because the next thing I know, I’ve carried her to her room and I’m tossing her onto her bed, disrupting the half dozen perfectly placed pillows she’s got on there.
“Condoms,” I say hoarsely. “Still in the same place?”
She nods. “I can—”
“I got it.”
I find what I’m looking for in the top left drawer of her bathroom vanity. Pinching the tip of the condom, I roll it on in short, brutal strokes, tossing the foil packet in the garbage can before stalking back into the bedroom.
Milly’s on her side facing me, knees bent, her legs curled up. She’s got this soft look in her eyes now, the kind that turns my heart inside out.
“I can’t believe I get to fuck with you again,” she whispers.
I walk to the far side of the bed and run a hand over her calf. She’s as soft as I remember her being, but I know inside that softness is a woman made of steel.