“Yes, are you going to stare all day, or are you going to do something about it?” Her cheeks flushed, but she kept that chin jutted, as if he needed any more proof she was tough and fearless.
But he didn’t say or do anything. Because for a few seconds he wanted to commit to memory the curves of her body, the way the parts of her that saw sun were darker and more freckled than the pale skin of her breasts, her abdomen. The pink tips of her nipples, the white scar on her shoulder.
Every inch.
“What?” she said into the quiet. He supposed she was trying to be demanding, but she came off unsure.
Like there was one inch of her she should be embarrassed over.
“Christ, Mel, do you have any idea…” He didn’t have any idea. She was just…like no one else. Not ever.
He pressed a kiss to the spot underneath her belly button, feeling the muscles of her stomach jerk in response. He savored the places she was soft, delicate. Her stomach, the inside of her elbows. He dragged the pads of his fingertips over her rib cage and then repeated the process with his tongue, savoring each intake of breath, each dreamy sigh.
She gasped when his mouth covered her nipple, his tongue circling it until she all but whimpered his name. He’d been meaning to keep his hands in place, centered on her hips so he didn’t forget to go slow, but it was no use.
One hand held him leveraged above her, and he was doing anything with his tongue that made her gasp again. A flick across her nipple, a swipe under her ear. But the other hand…wandered.
Over the soft skin of firm thighs, down to her kneecap and back up again. He inched his finger closer and closer, torturing himself, torturing her.
He thought he heard her whisper “please,” but it might have been his own imagination. It might have been his own desperation echoing in his ears. He slid his finger inside of her and groaned in time with her.
“Dan.”
When he glanced up, he found her watching him, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes slightly wide. It took her a moment to meet his gaze, and when she did, he slid his finger deeper, soaking up every moan.
“You’re beautiful,” he said earnestly—possibly the most earnest thing he’d ever said.
Her eyes fluttered closed, the blush on her cheeks going deeper. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me. I’m already naked.”
“I’m not sweet-talking. Wouldn’t work if I did. You’d see right through it. So don’t be stupid. I think you’re beautiful. Believe it.”
Her lips curved, and for the first time since the kitchen, she reached out, touched him. First lightly on the chest, then moving up to his shoulders, her hands rough from all the work she put in day after day. There was something so…enticing, that she could be so many different things—shy, bold, rough, smooth.
Her fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder blades, the length of his spine. He forgot everything except the warmth of her, the weight of her hands on him, the steady rhythm of his hand, of her breathing.
And when her hands traveled to the inside of his boxers, he was the one watching intently, the one whose verbal response couldn’t be helped.
She closed her hand around him, and he swore roughly, unable to keep his own eyes open. She stroked, the friction welcome and too much all at once.
When he managed to open his eyes and look at her, her mouth was curved. “You’re smiling smugly,” he accused.
Her hand traveled the length of his erection again, and he whistled out a breath, but two could play her game. He kept pace with her, and each time she stroked, he did the same.
“I am not smug.”
“You’re so smug. Trust me, I know smug when I”—she stroked again, and he had to give himself a minute for fear his voice would crack—“see it.”
“Okay, so what if I am smug?”
He added another finger, sliding over the spot that made her squeak.
“Just wait. I’m going to give you a whole hell of a lot more to be smug over.”
“There’s going to need to be less talking and more…actual penetrating.”
He huffed out a laugh, pained to have to leave her in order to paw through the nightstand drawer for the box of condoms he’d bought the other day.
Making her blush.
He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the box of condoms, retrieving one square from the row. “I lied, you know.”
“About what?”
He turned to her, standing so he could push the boxers off. “When I said I wasn’t buying these for you.”
She rolled her eyes, but even so, her gaze was glued to him as he rolled the condom on.
He wasn’t sure what to say, even if she did want less talking and more…penetration. Shit. Maybe there was nothing to say. They’d certainly done their fair share of talking.
He leveraged himself over her. No, he didn’t have the words for this thing, because it was big, and for all her hard-ass proclamations, it required some level of care. Sure, he was bad at that, but he could learn. He wasn’t an overwhelmed kid anymore. Like any skill, it just took practice and the desire to do it.