Page 128 of The Grumpy Defenseman
She saw that too.
“You can touch me,” she said.
I crossed the room.
Slowly.
When my hands settled at her waist, she leaned back into me. Her body fit against mine like an answer I had been trying not to write down.
I lowered my mouth to the side of her neck.
Her breath caught.
“Still okay?” I asked.
She turned her head enough for her mouth to brush my jaw.
“Yes.”
I unzipped the dress with more control than I felt. The fabric slipped down her body and pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it, then turned to face me in the dim light, in nothing but dark underwear and a careful expression.
No camera.
No wall between what I saw and what she chose to show me.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“Yes.”
A small smile. “At least you’re honest.”
“Tryingsomething new.”
Her laugh broke on the end when I kissed her.
I walked her backward to the bed without breaking the kiss. She found the buttons on my shirt and worked them open with the same steady focus she used behind a camera. When she pushed it off my shoulders, I let it fall.
“Belt,” she said against my mouth.
I undid it. She undid the rest. By the time my jeans hit the floor I was hard against her, and the breath she let out told me she felt it.
“Evan.”
“Yeah.”
“On the bed.”
I sat down. She stood between my knees and ran her hands up my chest like she was learning me by touch instead of frame. I caught her wrist when her thumb dragged over my ribs.
“Bruise,” I said.
“I know exactly where the bruise is.”
“Of course you do.”
She bent and kissed it. Then she kept going.
Her mouth moved down my stomach. My hand went into her hair without instruction. When she reached my thighs and pushed them apart so she could settle between them, I had to brace my good hand behind me on the mattress because I had stopped being capable of holding myself up.
