Page 191 of Sin
“No?”
“No.” He comes toward me slowly. “It started before Amsterdam.”
My chest tightens. He stops in front of me and brushes his fingers over my cheek.
“Amsterdam is where we stopped lying badly.”
A laugh escapes me.
“Badly?”
“Terribly.”
His thumb grazes my lower lip.
“Tonight,” he says, “I want to replace every bad memory in this city.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I’m a motivated man.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He leans in, stopping just short of my mouth. “Tell me yes.”
Still after a year, and a ring, and every night he has touched me with care and heat and devotion he still asks.
“Yes.”
His mouth covers mine. The kiss is open from the first breath. Open mouth, full heat, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands pull me flush to him. The sound I make is swallowed by him, and he groans like he has been starving since the ballroom.
Maybe since this morning.
Maybe since the first time.
His hands slide down my back, over my hips, gripping me through the sleek black dress.
“This dress,” he says against my mouth.
“You like it?”
“I hate it.”
I laugh. “That’s confusing.”
“It kept you from me all evening.”
“That was sort of the point of clothing.”
“Terrible invention.”
He kisses me again, deeper, walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I expect him to unzip me. Instead, he drops to his knees. My breath stops. He looks up at me from there, hands sliding up the backs of my calves, over my thighs, beneath the hem of my dress.
“Sin.”
“Half an hour,” he reminds me.
The bastard. Then his mouth is on my thigh, and every clever thought I’ve ever had dies instantly.
