Page 61 of That Moment
“C’mon.”
I trail behind him, heart still somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
My clothes are draped over the back of the couch. My bra is tangled with my dress, my panties a crumpled scrap on the cushion. He picks them up carefully, one piece at a time, like he’s handling something fragile.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark but calm. “These first.”
He holds out the panties. I take a breath and step close. His gaze doesn’t drop. He kneels, and when his fingers brush my ankle, my skin prickles.
He guides the lace up my legs slowly, his thumbs grazing the inside of my thighs as he draws the fabric into place. The heat in my body flares again, slow and deep, but he doesn’t push it. He just looks up at me once, eyes hooded, and murmurs, “There.”
My bra comes next. He stands, lifts the straps from his wrist, and I turn automatically. His fingers trace the line of my spine as he hooks the clasp, careful, almost reverent. When he finishes, his palms rest briefly at my ribs, thumbs brushing the curve beneath my breasts before he exhales and steps back.
Then he reaches for the dress hanging over the chair, shaking out the wrinkles, holding it open between his hands.
“Here.”
I hesitate, because there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that almost feelsmoreintimate than everything that came before.
“I can manage,” I whisper.
“I know.” His voice dips, rough but gentle. “Let me anyway.”
I step closer. He slips the dress over my head, careful not to let the fabric snag. His knuckles skim my skin as he pulls the zipper up the length of my spine. Each inch is a heartbeat. Every brush of his fingertips sends another shiver through me.
When he’s done, he smooths the material at my hips, palms lingering just a second too long. I feel him exhale behind me, the warmth of it ghosting over the back of my neck.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Perfect.”
I turn, catching his eyes. They’re softer now, almost reverent. He reaches up, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, his thumb tracing the corner of my jaw like he’s memorizing me.
And that’s when it hits me—this is his trick. This is how he gets under every woman’s skin. He’s rough and filthy when he wants to be, then turns around and does this, this quiet, gentle, protective thing.
This is why they all fall for him,I think.Why they always come back.
He’s a gentleman and a sinner, the kind of man who’ll pin you to a table and then zip up your dress like you’re something precious. He’ll make you laugh when you’re trying to be mad. He’ll kiss you like he’s worshipping you and then act like it didn’t mean a thing.
He’s everything I want. And the one thing I can’t have. He doesn’t want forever. He doesn’t even pretend to. But he’s the first man who’s ever made me wonder what it would feel like if he did.
“Hey.” His voice snaps me out of it. “You okay?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He studies me, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. “Let me walk you out.”
He grabs my clutch off the counter, hands it to me, and presses a kiss to my forehead before guiding me through the door. Outside, the air is cooler now, sharp with night. The gravel crunches beneath our feet as we cross the drive.
At my car, he opens the door and rests one arm on the frame, crowding my space just enough to make breathing tricky.
“Text me when you get home.”
I tilt my head, forcing a teasing smile. “You always this thoughtful with your one-night stands?”
Fuck, seriously?I cringe, knowing damn well I sound like a jealous high schooler. I flash my best ‘just kidding’ smile, but I think we both know I’m so full of shit.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I keep bringing up other women, I swear, I’m not jealous.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes do. “You think that’s what this is?”
