Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“I remember things much better when they’re hands-on,” I agreed just as he dropped me onto the mattress.
I landed with a bounce, a little laugh escaping me.
Until I saw the hunger in his eyes.
He watched me as he worked each of his cufflinks, dropping them down on the dresser.
Next went his watch.
Then his tie.
Oh, I was getting a show.
I went up on my elbows, rapt.
The intensity in his eyes as he whipped his belt out of its loops had my core coiling, tight and expectant. My breath felt trapped low in my lungs.
He loosened his shirt from his slacks before pressing each button through its hole, exposing skin inch by delicious inch.
I had to press my thighs together to ease the ache when he finally whipped off his shirt and tossed it to the ground.
But he didn’t stop.
He just stared into my soul as his hands went to his waistband.
I swear the sound his zipper made caused a little pre-orgasm flutter.
My gaze kept moving from his gorgeous face to where he was pushing his pants to the ground, leaving him in his charcoal gray boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.
He hooked the waistband, and before I could even blink, he was completely naked before me.
A strangled sound escaped me.
But then he was bending forward, grabbing a handful of my sweater, and dragging me up to my feet by it.
“Your turn,” he said, his voice a sexy rasp that scraped over my sensitive skin.
He turned me, facing me toward the windows. The curtains were still open, the moon shining off the water below.
Then he drew up my shirt and tossed it at our feet.
The cooler air shivered across my heated skin, making goosebumps rise and my nipples twist.
Milo’s hands went to my waistband.
Desire licked along my nerves—sizzling, maddening.
He pulled the material down, the intoxicating drag of the fabric over my sensitive skin making my head fall back on his shoulder with a throaty whimper.
But Milo wasn’t giving in to my need.
His movements were slow, merciless, devastating.
By the time my pants fell to my ankles, my whole body trembled, shaking anything loose in my mind but this, more.
My little care package of goodies hadn’t included underwear, so when I stepped out of my pants, I was as bare as Milo was. Right there in front of the window.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips warm on my ear. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Desperate for touch, I reached back, placing my hands over his and trying to slide them down.
But they slipped out from under mine, teasing up my ribs, over my belly, tracing the undersides of my breasts.
Everything just right.
And not nearly enough.
But he just kept touching, tracing, teasing, tormenting.
Nerve endings I didn’t know existed sparked.
He found spots I didn’t even know were sensitive and showed me parts of myself I hadn’t known existed.
“Say my name like that again,” he demanded, voice a ragged sound that dragged over my aching skin.
“Milo,” I whimpered.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, teeth snagging my ear even as his fingers teased down my thighs but refused to slip inward and give me what we both knew I was aching for.
“You,” I said. “I want you.”
A rumble moved through him.
Then he shifted his hips, and his hard length was pressed against my own need.
I was already at that fragile edge of surrender.
But I needed the slow, deep stretch of him.
“Now, Milo,” I whimpered, rocking against him.
He positioned himself, and I felt the press of him.
Milo paused, his body nearly shaking with need.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “We’re okay.”
With a pained sound, his face pressed to the side of mine.
Then he was gliding inside—one slow, deep thrust that had us both groaning.
It was all sensation then.
His tightening grip on my hips.
His warm breath on my neck.
The slow, deliberate movement inside me.
My whole body was trembling so hard that Milo needed to wrap an arm around me, pull me tighter against his chest.
His other hand slid between my thighs, increasing the pleasure.
Little by little, the movement lost rhythm, dissolving into urgency as we both got closer and closer.
Release claimed me without warning, without mercy, without escape. And I gave into it helplessly, crying out, clinging, trembling.
Milo groaned at the frantic tightening around him, pressing deep, his whole body tightening, then pulsing in me as he came.
He collapsed backward on the edge of the bed, taking me with him on his lap, both of us just holding onto each other for a long time.
He was still inside me, and I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the intimacy.
I just needed one more minute.
Then another.
And another.
I gripped him when he tried to move.
“Shh,” he murmured, his lips pressing into the spot where my neck met my shoulder. “You can have me just like this anytime you want. You can let go.”
My body relaxed, and Milo gently moved with me onto the bed, our bodies curled tightly.
His hands roamed.
Not to excite.
To calm, to reassure.
“Baby.”
“Hmm?” I asked, floating in that space between sleep and consciousness, deliciously floating and satisfied.
“I have another plan,” he said.
“Yeah?” I asked, my eyes fluttering open. “What is it?”
He reached down, finding my hand, then sliding our fingers together.
He turned them.
Then pressed a kiss to the fourth finger on my left hand.
“I’m going to marry you.”
Yes, yes, he was.