“Please what?”
“Don’t.”
“Turn around.”
“Don’t,” I repeated.
“Please.”
I gripped the doorjamb and turned on my heel. I stood before him; the bottom half of my body was still clothed, and the top half was covered in only my bra. I crossed my arm over it.
His eyes met mine. “I just want to look at you. Drop your arm.” His eyes trailed down my face to my pink lace bra. “Take it off.”
I reached behind me and flicked the clasp. When it came loose, the straps slid down my arms. In the same way I’d launched myself at him, Tackle jumped off the bed, stalked over to me, and covered my bare flesh with the palms of his hands.
“You know how many times…Those damn bikinis.”
I might’ve laughed, but when he sucked my nipple into his mouth, all I could do was groan and grip his bare shoulders.
He covered my other breast with one hand while he unfastened my jeans with the other. “I need these off.” He knelt and pulled my jeans and panties down to my knees. “Getting a little ahead of myself,” he muttered as he untied my boots. “Hold on to me.”
I put my hands back on his shoulders as he took off one boot, then the other.
“Step out.”
When I did, he stood. I was completely naked, whereas he still had his pants on. I studied the cuts and bruises on his body.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said, perhaps feeling as uncomfortable with his partial nudity as I was with mine. “Where are the condoms?”
“I can get them.” Before I could walk away, Tackle grabbed my wrist. “Tell me where they are and wait for me on the bed.”
“Under the sink in the bathroom.”
He traipsed away while I pulled back the sheets and climbed under them.
When he came back in and set the box on the night table, he smiled. “You’re always hiding from me.”
“You’re the one who’s still wearing clothes.”
“Always teasing me too.”
Tackle dropped his pants, and like an idiot, I gasped.
5
Tackle
There wasn’t any question that me being naked in front of Sloane was uncomfortable—for both of us. It also didn’t come as a surprise that she wasn’t exactly the femme fatale she’d played herself off as when we got out of the car earlier. It was as though with every step she took, she turned into the shy eighteen-year-old I took to her senior prom.
That night, I knew she was innocent. It was obvious by the way she’d reacted to me holding her close when we danced. I could still recall the way her pupils had dilated and her breathing became labored the instant her body was flush with mine. She’d even apologized that her hands were sweaty.
But now, eight years later, she had to have had more…experience, right?
“Sloane—”
She bolted upright, reached for her sweater, and held it in front of her. “If you changed your mind, just say so.”