But this moment with Abby is different, better, infinitely sweeter.

Because it isn’t just that I’ve won her or wooed her—she’s turned it around. Against her nature and better judgement, outside her comfort zone—she’s chasing me. Enticing me, reeling me in to her. And for the first time in my life being wanted that way doesn’t make it feel too easy or uninteresting.

Because of her—because I know this isn’t her way—that she’s doing it just for me, only for me. It’s hard-won and worthy. Important.

It makes what’s happening here and now precious to me.

I slide my hand up her bare arm—her skin is warm and soft as satin. I cup the side of her face in my palm and wrap the other hand around her waist, drawing her forward.

“Say that again.”

“What?”

I stare at her mouth.

“Say my name again.”

A smile teases at her mouth as she reaches up, grazing the tip of her nose against mine—as soft as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. And her lips are right fucking there.

“Tommy . . .”

I was hard before, but the whispery plea in her tone turns me to granite. And I curl over her, covering her mouth with mine—thrusting my tongue in deep and demanding, desperate to devour every inch of her.

She gasps at first, stiffening for just a second.

But then . . . then she melts.

Yeah, that’s the way.

She presses her breasts against my chest, her stomach to mine, twining her arms around my neck like she can’t get close enough. And it all comes rushing back—the feel of her in my hands, the taste of her tongue. It’s wild and consuming and more perfect than anything my pitiful memory allowed me to recall.

I sink my hands into the soft silk of her hair, gripping a bit, and she rewards me with a throaty little moan. I angle her head, slowing down the kiss, so I can suck at her lips and slide slowly against her tongue—savoring the velvet feel of her mouth the way we both deserve.

And Abby isn’t idle. Her hands roam and clutch, before gripping the bottom of my sweater and pushing it up my rib cage. I stop kissing her long enough to tug it over my head and drop it on the floor. But I don’t go back for her mouth straightaway.

Because she’s staring at me—at my bare torso—eyes wide and dark with naked hungry want. With wonder.

And then she touches me.

Pressing her palm against my hot skin, following it with her gaze as she skims the swells of muscles across my chest, over my arms, then down my abdomen.

“There’s so much to you,” she breathes out. “I’ve imagined so many times what you would look like.”

Abby brings her other hand into play, nails scratching lightly across my stomach, caressing the indents where my jeans hang low on my hips. Making me groan—driving me mad.

“But this is more—better—than I envisioned.”

I yank her back into my arms, kissing her roughly so she’ll stop saying things that make me want to rip her clothes off and fuck here on the hard oak floor.

It would be fast and filthy—and she would let me do it.

But I don’t want to rush this. I want to relish every sensation and delight in every gorgeous moan I pull from her.

I drag the zipper down the back of her dress and Abby slips it off to a pool of dark green around her feet.

And I think this woman may actually be trying to kill me.

Because she’s not wearing a bra.

How the hell did I not notice this before?

Her breasts are high and pale and perfect—her nipples two tight rose points, begging to be worshiped and sucked. Abby stands before me in nothing but her sky-high heels and a scrap of sheer black lace that can be called knickers in only the barest sense of the word.

My cock is so hard it throbs in time to the beat of my heart, like it’s trying to pound its way through the zipper of my jeans.

She shifts her arms, but before she can cover herself—because that just won’t fucking do—I sink to my knees in front of her like the sinner I am. I cup her tits in my hands, squeezing gently, rubbing the full mounds and dragging my thumbs achingly slowly across her nipples.

Abby’s head rolls back as she hisses my name.

“Tommy.”

I bring my mouth to her breast, wrap my lips around one needy little peak and suckle. She tastes sweet here too—soft and smooth and fragrant. I move to her other breast, flicking with my tongue before drawing her nipple into my mouth with long, suctioning pulls.

“Oh yes.” Abby clasps my head, leaning forward, giving me more of her flesh.

And it’s all so good. My blood simmers with fire and flames lick at the surface of my skin.

Tags: Emma Chase The Bodyguards Romance
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