She lifts herself up and down, writhing against my stomach, as I stumble like a drunk toward the bedroom.

“Clothes,” I grind out between kisses. “Too many clothes.”

She nods, laughing, trying to drag my jacket off my arms while they’re holding her up—which ends up pinning my elbows to my sides, like I’m a hockey player who’s about to get his ass kicked in a brawl. Finally, we make it to my room. Chelsea’s fingers span my jaw as she kisses me, slipping her legs out from around me, sliding deliciously down my front to her feet.

I rip my jacket the rest of the way off, then I breathe deep, trying to regain at least some finesse. My palms slide up her arms, my lips cover that perfect pulse point on her neck, and a moan echoes through the room.

I just can’t tell if it’s mine or hers.

I taste her skin with my tongue, licking and sucking—and she’s warm, so fucking sweet. Without looking I manage to unzip the back of her dress. She lowers her arms, letting it drop to a puddle at her feet. And then I definitely look.

I step back from her, feasting with my eyes. All that smooth, rich skin beckons, aching to be touched, broken up only by bits of sheer black lace. Fuck, I can see her nipples through her bra—hard, pert, pink points. Her waist is flat and narrow, its circumference spanning both my hands, with a hint of toned muscle beneath soft skin. Her legs—Christ—long and lean and silky, like I knew they would be. And at the juncture of her thighs, the tiniest dusting of an auburn landing strip teases through the lace of her panties.

I want to rub my face against that softness, I want to rip that lace with my teeth and fuck her with my tongue until my name is the only word she remembers.

“You’re perfect.” My voice is low and ragged.

She meets my eyes; hers are impatient. “And you’re overdressed.”

My mouth twitches with a smirk, and I hold her gaze as I slowly unbutton my shirt. Her eyes go from ice to blue fire as I skim the shirt off my arms and drop it on the floor. She stares at my tattoos, the bulk of my biceps, wetting her lips with that tasty pink tongue. Still smirking, I unclasp my pants and drag the zipper down. My cock springs free from his confines, stiffly bobbing just a bit, and a moment later my pants and black boxer briefs pool on the floor too.

I stand before Chelsea naked and more consumed with lust than I have ever been in my entire fucking life. Her gaze continues to roam and it feels intense. Like a stroking hand—over my corded neck, across my chest, around the ridges of my abs, down the happy trail. When she gets to my cock, jutting out thick and ready, her eyes widen.

And then . . . she giggles.

Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.

“Something funny?”

Chelsea’s flush deepens until her cheeks are crimson, and she giggles again.

“You’re doing a number on my ego here, Chelsea.”

“No, it’s not . . .” She takes a breath. “You have really big hands.”

I frown in confusion. “And?”

“And . . . I was just thinking . . . what they say about guys with big hands is definitely . . . true.”

I’ve heard similar compliments before. What can I say? When God was passing out dick, he gave me extra.

But she sounds almost nervous when she says, “It’s . . . it’s been awhile for me, Jake.”

“What’s awhile?”

“Eight months.”

That is a long time. And sick bastard that I am, the first thing that pops into my head is how incredibly snug she’s going to feel around me.

I push those thoughts aside and focus on Chelsea. “Then here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to lay you down in my big, huge bed and I’m going to make you come with my mouth and my fingers.” I start to stroke my dick while I talk. Because it feels good and because she’s watching. “Then we’re going to go real slow . . . inch by inch . . . until you beg me to not go slow anymore. Sound good?”

Chelsea’s chest rises and falls quickly. “Yeah. I like the way that sounds.”

“Good.” And it feels like I might actually die if I don’t get my mouth on her right now. “C’mere.” She meets me in the middle, raising her lips to welcome my mouth. The kiss is slower now but deep and rhythmic. I don’t let up until I feel her shoulders relax. Then I move back to her luscious neck. I skim my nose along her collarbone, leaving a trail of wet kisses from her pulse to below her ear and back again. Her head tilts and she moans my name. I pull her bra strap down her shoulder, following it with scraping teeth. My deft fingers work the back clasp, and it falls away from her, leaving nothing standing between my mouth and Chelsea’s pale, absolutely perfect tits.

I dip my head and take one peaked nipple into my mouth, working it over with my tongue, making her squirm and grind against my thigh. Then I pick her up, wrapping her legs around me again, before slowly laying her down in the center of the bed. She guides me over her, between her legs, and now we’re kissing and rubbing—moaning and grinding. It’s fucking fantastic.

Quick gasping curses slip from between Chelsea’s lips, and it’s so goddamn sexy because she’s trying to keep them in . . . and just can’t.

I slide down her writhing body, kissing and licking as I go. I nibble around her belly button, making her stomach contract. And just as I’m about to dive into pussy heaven, Chelsea whispers my name.

“Jake.”

Only . . . it’s not the good kind of whisper—not a Jake, fuck me right now type of tone. Has more of a wait kind of sound to it.