Page 13 of The Contract

His words brush over my skin like the lightest caress, sending a shiver down my spine.

I should dismiss it like I have every other compliment before this one.

But I can’t.

Because there’s something about the way he says it.

Not just spoken—but felt.

Like he’s not telling me for my benefit, but because he needs me to know.

His lips return to mine, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the taste of me.

I sigh into him, hands tracing up the sharp lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles beneath the tailored fabric of his suit.

Too many layers.

I tug at his jacket, and he releases me just long enough to shrug it off, letting it fall somewhere behind him.

His lips drift lower, pressing against the hollow of my throat—the sensitive space beneath my ear. His breath is warm, his touch firm yet gentle, every movement precise.

A quiet moan escapes me when his mouth finds my collarbone, his teeth grazing before soothing the spot with his tongue.

I slide my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to test him.

A sharp inhale is my reward, the subtle tension in his jaw the only sign that I’ve affected him.

I exhale shakily, my head tipping back as his lips trail a path lower—along the curve of my shoulder, the tops of my breasts.

The only barrier between us is lace.

Thin. Delicate. Inconsequential.

His hands smooth up my ribs, thumbs brushing beneath the swell of my breasts, teasing until a low growl rumbles from his chest.

He tugs the lace down.

His mouth replaces fabric with heat.

A slow, deliberate kiss to the valley between my breasts.

A teasing drag of his tongue against my nipple earns him another moan.

A deep, reverent inhale—like he’s breathing me in—makes my fingers tighten in his hair as a wicked smirk ghosts against my skin.

God help me.

Because he’s not just taking his time.

He’s enjoying this.

Every shiver. Every quiet sound I make. Every inch of bare skin he reveals fuels him to keep going.

I don’t realize he’s walking me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed, the mattress giving beneath me as I sink into it.

His lips chase mine until I’m leaning back, one hand bracing against the mattress, the other fisting the lapel of his shirt and pulling him to me.

My fingers fight against the top button until I free it—then the next, and another.

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