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Understanding crossed his features, and he closed the distance between us to take my face in his hands. “You, Olivia Griffen, are going to see exactly what you do to me.”
He kissed me, hard, and ground his erection against me. His fingers teased the bottom of my tank top as he said, “These are the rules. Every time I remove a piece of your clothing, I’m going to tell you what I see.”
I nodded, anxious butterflies filling my stomach.
“And you’re going to repeat after me.” His tone left no room for negotiations. “Got it?”
“Okay.” My voice was breathy.
He gripped the hem of my shirt, lifting it up, and took me in, a slight smile on his lips. “I can’t wait to have a handful of those breasts in my hands, your nipples on my tongue.”
I whispered an echo of his words, but he stepped back, making me cold.
“Say it,” he demanded.
I felt more naked than ever as I said, “You can’t wait to have my breasts in your hands. My nipples on your tongue.” I shuddered at the words. At the heat they brought to me.
“Good girl,” he breathed. Then he pulled me back toward him, removing my jeans.
“These thighs are going to feel so fucking good wrapped around my waist.”
My breath hitched. “My thighs are going to feel so fucking good wrapped around your waist.” I clenched at the words.
“That’s my girl,” he said, coming closer and pressing two fingers to my clit, sliding them in a slow, tantalizing circle over my panties. He hooked his fingers over the lace, dragging them down. “I’m going to eat your pussy like it’s my last fucking meal.”
My breath hitched.
“Say it.”
“You’re going to eat my pussy like it’s your last fucking meal.”
He raised his chin in approval. “Lift your arms,” he ordered.
I did as he asked, and he pulled the lacy bralette over my head. My dark brown curls came cascading back down, tickling my bare shoulders as he stared at me, brown eyes full of heat.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, nothing but truth in his voice.
“Fletcher...” I whispered. I knew what Regina looked like... imagined the other women he must have been with before me.
“Repeat it,” he ordered.
Something caught the words in my throat.
“Now,” he said, a gentle force to his voice.
Completely bare to him, this man looking like a muscled god with his jeans unbuttoned and his shirt rumpled on the floor. Me, with all my curves and stretch marks and cellulite. I lifted my chin and said, “I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”
“You are,” he breathed, coming closer, sliding his jeans over his hips.
And my lips parted because I realized, just like I’d dreamed, it was him and me, bare to each other. All his secrets on display, all my curves not just seen, but desired. And we wanted each other anyway. Not in spite of our flaws. Not because of them. But in honor of them.
He reached into his wallet and retrieved a condom, rolling it on, and then he stepped closer.
Anticipation had my heart hitching, my breath catching, but he closed the gap between us, our bodies pressed together, skin to skin. He lifted my hips, putting me on the desk where he wanted me, and I wrapped my legs around him like promised.
He filled and stretched me so hard I was gasping into his kiss.
But he held me tight, easing in and savoring this moment, knowing it could never be undone.