Every day, I'm a little more in love with her.
"Mmmm." Chloe kicks her heels off, one at a time. They bounce off the walls. Land on the carpet with a thud.
"You trying to wreck up our place?"
"Our place?"
"You're here five nights a week."
"It's close to work."
"That's it."
"Well…" She bends her arm over her head, reaching for her zipper. "You're here."
"I'm here."
"Yeah. And, well… Dad isn't ready to accept that I've moved out."
"Just Dad?"
"Just Dad. I swear." She doesn't quite reach the zipper. "Could you?"
"Come here."
She does.
My fingers skim her hips. The curve of her waist. The sides of her chest. I trace the back of her dress.
She leans into the touch. Lets out a soft murmur as her head falls to the right.
I take my time undoing her zipper then tracing a line up her spine. Her back is gorgeous. And it feels so fucking good touching her. She feels right against my fingertips. Like she's made for me. "You look gorgeous."
"Weird."
"Yeah. But gorgeous."
She pushes her dress off her hips. "You don't look half bad yourself, Maddox." She turns and gives me a long, slow once-over.
"Does that mean I look half-good?"
"Amazing. But not good, exactly. Like the devil you are."
"Go on."
"What's that movie where Satan is a lawyer?"
"I look like Satan?"
"Yeah. Kind of."
"That's the sweetest thing you've said to me in ages."
"I try." Her fingers brush my suit jacket. My bright pink tie. My oxford shirt. "You look like Dean."
"Should I not?"
"No. But—" She kicks her dress off her feet. "I don't look like me in that dress"