Tough Love
Page 11
And so she’d used underhanded tactics to get him on board.
“Right here,” she told him, “right now, you could notice things other than my smile.”
Hands on her shoulders, he stepped her back. “Yeah, and I do, believe me.” With some space now between them, he trailed one fingertip over the neckline of her dress, dipping low between her breasts before dropping his hand. “Turn around.”
That husky command curled her toes. “What will you do?”
“Get you out of this dress.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, then slowly turned her back to him and tipped her head forward.
He lifted her hair over her left shoulder so that it trailed down over her breasts. She waited for him to open the zipper, but instead, after a few silent seconds, his lips brushed the back of her neck.
Sweet sensation caught her breath.
Stepping up against her, Stack opened his mouth on her skin, lightly sucking, every so often letting her feel his teeth, then tasting with his tongue.
Making a small sound of wonder, she let her head fall back against him. God, that felt good. So good.
When he reached around her and settled his hands on her breasts, she started.
“Shh.” He caressed her through her dress.
Vanity looked down at how he held her, how he’d filled his big hands with her. His fingers were long and strong, curved under the weight of her breasts. She swallowed, then went still as he brought his thumbs up to rasp her now swollen nipples.
“So soft,” he murmured against her skin. “Be still now.” His hands left her, but before she could register disappointment she felt him searching over the back of the dress.
Despite being a big badass fighter with hands that could knock out an opponent in one solid punch, he had no problem tackling the tiny hidden zipper. Utilizing a painstaking lack of haste, he dragged the zipper down, and seconds later the bodice loosened, then the waist, until he’d opened the dress all the way down past the small of her back.
Still standing close behind her, he slipped his hands over her hips, pushing the material down—until the dress fell in a colorful heap to her feet.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Stack said in a gravelly whisper, “Great fucking dress.”
Aware of how she looked in nothing more than her sedate jewelry, peach lace panties and thigh-high nylons, Vanity kept her back to him.
Both of his hands cupped her backside. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on this ass for a very long time.”
Trying a laugh that sounded a little too high and thin, Vanity turned—and his hot gaze zeroed in on her breasts.
“Damn.” His attention burned over her.
Pleased with that reaction, she stepped away from the discarded dress and went to work on the rest of his buttons. “At this rate, we’re never going to make it to the shower.”
His nose nudged her hair, glided along the side of her throat, breathed deeply near her shoulder. “You smell as good as I imagined.”
“Like smoke?”
“Like a major turn-on.” He tipped up her face, let his mouth play over hers before settling in for a deep, hot kiss.
His hands on her waist were firm, his palms calloused. He coasted up her back, down to her bottom, back up and around to her breasts. The second he made contact, he groaned.
She did her own touching, trying to get him out of his clothes.
Without breaking the contact of their mouths, he brushed away her hands and got to work on the buttons himself. He’d removed the tie and cuff links earlier, and now he tossed the shirt aside. Every so often his hands went back to her body, and now, with his chest bare, he pulled her in so that their upper bodies made complete contact.
Vanity tightened her arms around his neck and moved against him, loving the sensation of his chest hair against her puckered nipples. At her belly, she could feel his knuckles as he opened his pants.
Wanting to watch, she stepped back. Lacking modesty—and with no reason for it—Stack shoved his pants down and off, removing his socks at the same time. He stood before her in only dark tented boxers.
“You’re perfect,” she whispered with awe, unable to stop staring.
“Vanity.” He shifted, his muscles flexing and bunching. “You’ve seen me before,” he reminded her.
A little dumbfounded, Vanity shook her head. “Not like this.”
He rolled a shoulder. “Without the boner, yeah. But you always see me in boxing shorts.”
True. She’d seen him often, and fantasized about him even more.
Stripped down to nothing more than those low shorts, Stack always stole the show at the rec center where all the fighters worked out. Most days he went at it until sweat left a sheen on his perfectly sculpted body, until his muscles swelled and became more pronounced.
“Right here,” she told him, “right now, you could notice things other than my smile.”
Hands on her shoulders, he stepped her back. “Yeah, and I do, believe me.” With some space now between them, he trailed one fingertip over the neckline of her dress, dipping low between her breasts before dropping his hand. “Turn around.”
That husky command curled her toes. “What will you do?”
“Get you out of this dress.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, then slowly turned her back to him and tipped her head forward.
He lifted her hair over her left shoulder so that it trailed down over her breasts. She waited for him to open the zipper, but instead, after a few silent seconds, his lips brushed the back of her neck.
Sweet sensation caught her breath.
Stepping up against her, Stack opened his mouth on her skin, lightly sucking, every so often letting her feel his teeth, then tasting with his tongue.
Making a small sound of wonder, she let her head fall back against him. God, that felt good. So good.
When he reached around her and settled his hands on her breasts, she started.
“Shh.” He caressed her through her dress.
Vanity looked down at how he held her, how he’d filled his big hands with her. His fingers were long and strong, curved under the weight of her breasts. She swallowed, then went still as he brought his thumbs up to rasp her now swollen nipples.
“So soft,” he murmured against her skin. “Be still now.” His hands left her, but before she could register disappointment she felt him searching over the back of the dress.
Despite being a big badass fighter with hands that could knock out an opponent in one solid punch, he had no problem tackling the tiny hidden zipper. Utilizing a painstaking lack of haste, he dragged the zipper down, and seconds later the bodice loosened, then the waist, until he’d opened the dress all the way down past the small of her back.
Still standing close behind her, he slipped his hands over her hips, pushing the material down—until the dress fell in a colorful heap to her feet.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Stack said in a gravelly whisper, “Great fucking dress.”
Aware of how she looked in nothing more than her sedate jewelry, peach lace panties and thigh-high nylons, Vanity kept her back to him.
Both of his hands cupped her backside. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on this ass for a very long time.”
Trying a laugh that sounded a little too high and thin, Vanity turned—and his hot gaze zeroed in on her breasts.
“Damn.” His attention burned over her.
Pleased with that reaction, she stepped away from the discarded dress and went to work on the rest of his buttons. “At this rate, we’re never going to make it to the shower.”
His nose nudged her hair, glided along the side of her throat, breathed deeply near her shoulder. “You smell as good as I imagined.”
“Like smoke?”
“Like a major turn-on.” He tipped up her face, let his mouth play over hers before settling in for a deep, hot kiss.
His hands on her waist were firm, his palms calloused. He coasted up her back, down to her bottom, back up and around to her breasts. The second he made contact, he groaned.
She did her own touching, trying to get him out of his clothes.
Without breaking the contact of their mouths, he brushed away her hands and got to work on the buttons himself. He’d removed the tie and cuff links earlier, and now he tossed the shirt aside. Every so often his hands went back to her body, and now, with his chest bare, he pulled her in so that their upper bodies made complete contact.
Vanity tightened her arms around his neck and moved against him, loving the sensation of his chest hair against her puckered nipples. At her belly, she could feel his knuckles as he opened his pants.
Wanting to watch, she stepped back. Lacking modesty—and with no reason for it—Stack shoved his pants down and off, removing his socks at the same time. He stood before her in only dark tented boxers.
“You’re perfect,” she whispered with awe, unable to stop staring.
“Vanity.” He shifted, his muscles flexing and bunching. “You’ve seen me before,” he reminded her.
A little dumbfounded, Vanity shook her head. “Not like this.”
He rolled a shoulder. “Without the boner, yeah. But you always see me in boxing shorts.”
True. She’d seen him often, and fantasized about him even more.
Stripped down to nothing more than those low shorts, Stack always stole the show at the rec center where all the fighters worked out. Most days he went at it until sweat left a sheen on his perfectly sculpted body, until his muscles swelled and became more pronounced.
