Page 135 of Let It Breathe
He stroked his thumb over her nipple and she gasped.
Then she slid her fingers down over his abs, then around his back. Her other hand joined that one and she gripped his shoulder blades, using them to pull him closer.
Clay slid his hand out from under her shirt and slid his palms to her shoulders. He shoved the flannel aside, baring the thin straps of the tank top. He kissed her left shoulder as the flannel fell away, dropping over her hands and onto the floor. Clay kicked it aside, not caring where it landed.
He trailed both hands down her rib cage, traveling downward until he found the hem of the tank top. He gripped the fabric and, in one quick motion, pulled the shirt up over her head.
Reese lifted her arms and the top slid off, leaving her standing there in her bra. She licked her lips as her nipples strained against the pink satin. Clay tossed the tank top aside, barely registering that it landed in the sink.
Polite Clay would have worried about water stains.
Normal Clay found the clasp of her bra with both hands.
He yanked the hooks apart, releasing the tension. Then he slid his hands up and pushed the straps from her shoulders, letting the bra fall to the ground.
“Oh,” she breathed as Clay nipped her bare shoulder, his teeth rough on her smooth skin. “Topless in my kitchen. This is new.”
“You should always be topless in your kitchen,” he said, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Reese responded, opening her mouth to him and sliding one hand up to cup his face.
He kissed her like that for what seemed like hours, moving from her lips to her throat, dragging his teeth over the rounded mounds of her shoulders. They were both breathing hard as he slid down her throat, trailing kisses until he reached the edge of her collarbone. He moved one hand beneath her breast, savoring the weight of it. He cupped it gently, moving his mouth down to kiss the edges of it. As his teeth grazed her nipple, Reese raked her fingers through his hair, urging him on.
He kissed her there, savoring the soft flesh of one breast, then the other, as Reese squirmed and whimpered. She drew one hand out of his hair and found his biceps, digging her nails in lightly.
“Your tattoo,” she whispered, tracing it with one fingertip. “Why wouldn’t you tell me what it said?”
Clay lifted his mouth from her breast and straightened, his fingers covering her bare nipples. He swallowed.
“It was crude. I got it when I was young. After the first stint in rehab—the one that didn’t take. I was embarrassed. I’ll tell you now?—”
“I already know,” she murmured.
He blinked, regrouping. “I wanted you to think I’d matured. That I’d stopped making dirty jokes, stopped drinking, stopped being a jackass.”
She shook her head and traced a finger over the words. “I didn’t want you to stop being you.”
“Me neither.”
She looked up at him from under her lashes, her expression halfway between playful and dangerous. “Res firma mitescere nescit,” she murmured. “‘A rigid thing doesn’t soften.’ Right?”
“Something like that.”
She gave him a salacious grin. “Show me.”
Clay pressed his hand into the small of her back, drawing her closer. She slid her leg between his and could feel him hard against her thigh.
“You need me to prove it?” he murmured.
“No, but I wanted to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“I’m hard for you, Reese—I want you, Reese.”
“I am. I do. I always have.”
She smiled. “Always?”
“Longer than you know.”
