Page 88 of Clinically Delicious
“Can I?” he asked again, and I nodded frantically.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Yes.”
He unbuttoned my jeans with steady fingers—How is he so calm? How is he so controlled? I’m literally dying here—and slid the zipper down. Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, taking my underwear with them.
Oh God.
Oh God, I’m naked.
I’m completely naked in Gabriel Lyon’s bedroom and he’s still fully dressed and—This is not fair. This is completely unfair.
I reached for his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
“Off,” I gasped. “This needs to be off. Now.”
He smiled. Actually smiled, and helped me, his hands covering mine, guiding them. The buttons came undone one byone, and then I was pushing the shirt off his shoulders, my hands finally—finally—touching his bare chest.
Oh my God.
Oh my God, he’s—he’s perfect!
Absolutely perfect.
This is better than the towel situation.
This is better than any fantasy I’ve had for the past three weeks.
My hands explored his chest, tracing the defined muscles, the warm skin, and he made a sound that sent heat straight through me.
“Cate,” he murmured, and my name sounded like a prayer.
Or a warning.
I looked up at him, and his eyes were so dark, so intense, that I forgot how to breathe.
“Bed,” he commanded. “Now.”
Oh God.
Oh God, this is really happening.
This is...
He guided me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, and then he was lowering me down, his body covering mine.
Oh.
Oh my God.
The weight of him.
The heat of him.
This is...
His mouth found mine again, kissing me deeply, and I felt his hand slide down my side, over my hip, between my thighs.
I gasped against his mouth.
