“Too tight?” His jaw grazed the skin of her shoulder. “Studs not pushing too deep where your wrists press against your back?”
Molly shook her head as he caressed her lower curves, her throat dry.
“That’s good. Anytime you want out, just say so.” Chest pressed to her back, he said, “You got it?”
“Yes.” Molly curled her fingers against his zipper, his own hand slipping around to cup her breast before he ran it down her stomach to the waistband of her skirt, following it in a teasing line to the back.
Slipping the small black button there out of its hole, he brushed his thumb over the skin below. “You’re so soft, Molly.” The zipper being tugged down with those husky words. Shaped to her body, the skirt didn’t sag but had to be pulled down—which Fox did slowly, so slowly, his kisses getting lower down her spine.
She shivered.
“Cold?” A breath of hot air against her skin as the skirt fell to her ankles, followed by a tender kiss to the delicate crease of skin where her buttock met her thigh. “Better?”
“More,” she said, shameless.
But being shameless with Fox had its rewards. She got a second kiss, long caressing strokes of those rough-skinned hands over her thighs. “Lift your leg.” Another kiss after she obeyed. “Now this one.”
An instant later, the skirt was gone from around her ankles, leaving her clad in nothing but black heels and panties of blush-colored lace that matched the bra already on the floor. Fox had given her the decadent lingerie as a gift, as he gave her so many things. She truly was spoiled. Most of all because he was hers.
“Did I ever tell you I love taking you while you’re wearing heels?” Kisses up her spine as he rose to his feet behind her.
Sucking in a shallow breath, she said, “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”
His laughter low, masculine, intimate, Fox drew her hair over one shoulder and, sliding his hands between the wall and her skin, palmed her br**sts. Her sensitive flesh was crushed against his hold by the heavy press of his body, but it wasn’t painful—no, it felt wonderful. Especially when he drew one hand back to undo the button on his jeans, lowered the zipper what sounded like halfway and, taking her bound hands, tucked them inside.
Molly moaned. “You went commando before a press conference?” Hot and thick and erect, he felt too big to fit inside her, but he did. He always did, and the fit was perfect.
“Why the hell not?” Running the fingers of one hand lightly over her neck and shoulder, he rolled and tugged at her ni**les with his other. “How would you like me, Molly? Like this.” He ground himself against her lace-covered behind, her hands trapped in between. “Or should I throw you on your back, spread your thighs wide and pound into you while you lie helpless?”
Molly squeezed her fingers on the part of him she held, to his groan. “Whatever you want,” she whispered.
“Oh, I like the things you say.” A firm tug on her ni**les before he caressed one hand down her body and into her panties from the front.
It was a bold, self-assured hold, that of a man who knew the woman he touched belonged to him. She could feel herself growing wetter against his palm with every second that passed, his mouth busy on her throat and shoulder, his free hand continuing to roll and tug at her ni**les, shooting darts of sensation directly to her clit—which she tried to rub against his hand, but her position wasn’t quite right, and she could only manage the most frustrating of brushes.
“Fox.”
“You said I could do what I liked.” It was a gravelly purr. “And I want to tease you.”
Molly whimpered, tried to clench her fingers on him, but he’d already stepped back, her hands sliding away from all that rigid male heat. “You want me, baby?”
“Yes.” Her fingers curled into her palms.
Sounds behind her—the light thud of shoes being kicked off, fabric rustling, a zipper moving the final few inches. “I’m naked,” he told her a minute later. “I’ve got my hands on what you want. I’m stroking it hard and fast, rougher than you ever do.” A quick kiss to her nape before he stepped out of reach once more. “That’s not a complaint—I love your hands on me. Shit, I jerk off to the thought of you jerking me off.”
A palm pressing between her shoulder blades when she would’ve turned. “Nu-huh. Don’t make me tie your ankles too… or maybe I should.”
“I’ll fall.”
He spanked her on one of her bottom cheeks, the ripple of sensation arcing through her flesh. “As if I’d let that happen.” Hooking his fingers in the sides of her panties, he tugged them down and off.
She felt fabric around her ankles the next instant. “It’s my T-shirt, not your top”—Fox’s voice, low and with that gritty undertone that made him so powerful as lead singer—“so don’t get mad.”
Hobbled by the tie and in a slightly unbalanced position against the wall, she had to stay where she was or risk taking them both down, because Fox was right—he’d never let her fall.
“You have no idea how hot you look.” A kiss to her nape. “My strong, smart, f**king perfect Molly.”
Heart aching at the stark emotional power of his words, she drank in the sight of him when he stepped back and scooped her up in his arms. The words she wanted to say flirted on the tip of her tongue, words that meant everything to her, but that Fox could well reject.