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I couldn’t stop touching him.
I dragged my hands down his chest, my fingers splaying over his ribs, his stomach, memorizing every dip and curve of him.
He was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
I kissed him again, swallowing his moan, feeling him arch up into me, desperate for more.
“Please,” he murmured.
I loved hearing him beg.
“Please what?” I murmured, dragging my lips down his throat, his chest, pausing to suck a bruise onto his collarbone.
Mike groaned.
“Take my pants off. Take everything off.”
“Slowly?”
“I don’t fucking care. Get me naked!”
A grin curled my lips.
“I want you to take me apart,” he said, his eyes now squeezed shut.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. My whole body shot upright as I unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them over his feet. Thank God, he still didn’t like underwear, because any more layers would’ve made me crazy. The darker red of the hair on his chest and legs contrasted with the fire-engine brilliance of pubes that pillowed his perfect uncut cock.
I didn’t mean to suck in a breath. It just happened.
I almost lost it.
Mike saw my reaction and grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing to me.
I chuckled darkly, gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head.
“You talk too much,” I murmured.
“You told me to . . .” He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Asshole. You love it.”
I did.
I really did.
But now?
Now I was going to make him scream.
Mike had been teasing me all night, winding me up with that sharp mouth of his, driving me insane with the way he talked—dirty, needy, fearless. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly how much I loved it.
And now?
Now I was going to show him what it did to me.
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, jarring me out of my thoughts of ravaging his body. “Slowly. Like you did with my shirt. I want to stroke myself while I watch.”
Holy fucking striptease. I might shoot just listening to him talk.