“Do you?” He was watching her intently. It was a slow pitch, that comment. Setting her up for a home run. She tilted her chin up. Shallow marks indented the sides of his nose where his glasses had rested all day. His dark eyes roamed her face, the color of them mirroring his charcoal shirt.
She let out a derisive sniff. “Not usually.”
“Well, I always get what I want.” His hands tightened at her waist. “What do I want, Kimber?” His minty toothpaste breath tickled her senses. If there was a protesting brain cell in the bunch, it didn’t speak up.
She gulped when he tugged her nearer. The answer was as obvious as his hard length pressing against her middle. “Me?”
“You,” he confirmed before taking her lips in an insistent, purposeful kiss. His fingers sailed along her waist and back. Hardly any space separated them. He smashed her against his hard male chest, wrapped her in his powerful, solid arms.
Savoring his lips, she ran her hands into his hair and ground against him, the nudge of his manhood growing harder. He let out a sound between a grunt and a growl and slid his tongue into her mouth, stroking her while his fingers played her spine like a harp.
This is happening. Finally. Truly.
If she could time-travel back to her sixteen-year-old self, that shy girl with the braces would laugh and call her a liar. She’d never believed she’d get her hands—or her mouth—on Landon Downey. Back then, she hadn’t had the mental capacity to come up with what this moment might feel like.
Even as an adult, he was blowing away her expectations, and they still had their clothes on.
His fingers brushed her stomach and ribs as he skimmed her shirt up, slowing when he got to her bra. He raised an approving eyebrow before lifting her shirt the rest of the way and tossing it aside.
When his lips landed on her neck, she pulled in a stuttered breath, alternately shivering and overheating as he tongued and kissed her, leaving damp spots on her skin.
He slowed when he reached her bra and tucked his tongue beneath the strap. He glided down to one cup, dipped the tip of his tongue inside, grazed the very edge of a nipple, then drew back. When he pulled away, he took her next breath with him, and she had to remind herself to inhale. He repeated the action—delving into the other cup and teasing her there, while she fought to regulate her breathing.
Her hands had wandered to the open triangle of his chest revealed by the undone buttons. She fisted his shirt, wanting to see him. All of him.
She’d seen him shirtless at the lake all those summers ago, and she’d been enamored by his long, lean torso, firm pecs, and rounded shoulders, the sheer male hardness of him. Longing to see how the body in her memory had changed, she undid one button. Then another.
The years had added width to his tall frame. Shoulders that had been rounded were broad, the chest that had been lean, full. Fumbling with the rest of the buttons, she managed to reveal his abdomen. What used to be an impressive flat, tanned stomach was a toned series of bumps beneath taut skin. She ran her fingers over his abs, stopping at the light brown trail of hair that vanished into his suit pants.
She traced her fingers up his torso as his muscles clenched under her touch. His skin was hot, and her hands shook as she splayed her palms over his pectorals and savored the feel of his skin. Goodness. He was beautiful.
While she explored his body, he explored hers. His fingers teased along her bra; the straps hooked over her shoulders, the tops of the cups, tickling her lightly as he went.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, running the tip of his finger between her breasts.
Emboldened by his appraisal, it was easy to shed her trepidations. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. Prove to him that he didn’t have to handle her as if she were a fragile little thing. Trying on her dominant side, she yanked his shirt off his shoulders and trapped his arms at his sides.
“You’re moving too slowly.” Her voice came out all Jessica Rabbit–like, which made her want to laugh. She refused. Jessica Rabbit wouldn’t laugh.
Really? That’s who you’re channeling for this scenario?
He dropped his hands from her body, allowing himself to be confined, letting her contain him. That effectively wiped the judgmental voices from her head. She knew she couldn’t restrain all this masculinity if she wanted to. The only power she had over him was the power he granted. And that made her feel undeniably feminine. She wrestled with his shirt again.
“In a hurry?” he asked when her movements became jerky.
She licked her lips, her inner dominant flagging. “Nervous,” she admitted.