Page 92 of Bitten & Burned
“So why don’t you…”
“You keep distracting me with your… lips.”
He chuckled, low and warm, pushing the top off my shoulders and helping me slip my arms out of it.
“Wait, wait…” I said, sliding back out of the bed to peel off my blouse completely. With it, I shimmied out of my skirt and even slid my hands into the top of my corset to begin to undo the busk, but he’d crawled over to me, on his knees on the bed, kissing me deeply while he pulled my hands away.
“Let me do that… It’s my favorite part.”
“That’syour favorite part?” I asked.
“Mmm,” he hummed against my skin, low as his fingers traced down the line of hooks at the front of my corset. One by one, he unfastened the busk with slow precision, each release sending a shiver through me as the pressure eased.
The last hook gave way, and the corset gaped open. The sudden release of pressure made me sigh before I could stop it. My chemise clung thin and sheer to my skin, the only barrier left between me and his gaze.
Anton slid the corset from my body with deliberate care, then slipped his fingers under the edge of my chemise. “This,” he murmured, tugging the fabric up and over my head, “might be my actual favorite part.”
I let it slide from my arms, and he sat back on his heels, eyes roaming over my bare chest, drinking me in like he’d been parched.
I took the momentary lapse in his brain activity to start working on the buttons on his shirt. His shirt fell open under my fingers, revealing warm skin dusted with dark hair that tapered into a faint trail leading towards his waist. I ached to follow it with my mouth. The faint scent of sea salt and cinnamon clung to his skin—dizzying, sweet, and entirely Anton.
And he sat there, on his knees on the mattress, letting me.
“Gods,” he groaned. “I think watching you undress me is better than stripping you myself…”
The hair on his chest was coarser than I expected, catching lightly on my fingertips as I threaded them through. A contrast to the velvet heat of his skin beneath.
“I like your chest hair,” I murmured, leaning over to kiss his throat.
“You do?” he asked, sounding almost surprised. As if he weren’t a complete specimen of perfection. “Why?”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s… nice. Tactile.” I demonstrated by running my fingers through it.
“Nice. Tactile. I suppose it’s a good thing I’m so damned pettable,” he murmured, catching my hands and pulling me back onto the bed.
I went willingly, even helped him a little.
Soon, I was under him, my thighs wrapped around his hips as he kissed and sucked on my throat.
I arched up beneath him, reaching down between us. “You’re still wearing pants. That’s not fair.”
“No, I don’t suppose that is fair,” he murmured, still kissing my throat. His stubble rasped against the soft skin there, each scrape leaving sparks in its wake before he soothed the spot with his tongue. “Why don’t you do something about that, darling?”
I tried to reach for the button on his trousers, but he pushed both my hands up over my head, grinding between my legs as he sucked softly on my neck. The press of his fingers against my wrists wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding—his strength clearly eclipsing my own. The silk sheets rustled beneath my arms, cool where my skin pressed into them.
“Hold on to the headboard.”
“But I want?—”
“I will,” he murmured. “But first, I want to taste you, and if you’re taking off more of my clothes, I won’t get to it. “And believe me. Ineedto get to it... Speaking of… are you overly attached to these?” He let his fingers trail over my slip shorts, glancing up at me.
“To these?” I asked.
“Yes, these.”
“Why?”
He dropped his head for a moment, his shoulders shook twice, and he looked back up at me, laughing. “Because gods, Rowena—I want to rip them off you.”
