Lang let his hands fall, and land on Vivi’s shoulders, plucking at the T-shirt. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”
“I borrowed it.”
“Take it off.”
Her knees actually buckled at the order. “You want it back?”
“I want it off.”
And, dear God, she wanted to take it off. Deep inside, an ache twisted. Lusty and low, superseding everything else.
She stared at him, taking a few steps backwards into the room but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
His eyes went smoky. “Good. Keep thinking about me.” He walked her backwards until she reached the bed. No smile on his face, no humor in his eyes. Dead serious, pure Lang. “Think about me while you take off that shirt that belongs to me.”
She sat when her knees hit the bed, fingering the bottom of the T-shirt, as she looked up him. “I have to say something first. I have one…rule.”
He lifted his brow. “You follow rules now?”
She had to feel…safe, or she couldn’t do this. That was her only stipulation. She had to know she had an escape if her brain betrayed her body and freaked out. “If I say stop, you stop.”
“Here’s my rule.” He pressed knees against the bed, holding hers between his as he eased her backwards. “You shouldn’t say go if you’re gonna say stop.”
Her gaze slipping to his sleep pants, the tent even bigger than it was before, the tip of his hard-on already straining the waistband. Her throat went bone dry. “If I did say stop, like if I had to…” she whispered. “I just want you to know it’s not because I’m teasing you. It’s just because…I changed my mind.”
He braced over her, all muscle and man, all hard and ready. Her whole body liquefied with want, falling back on the bed, already fighting the need to writhe against him and release the pressure that was building between her legs.
“If you change your mind, let me know. Until then, take my shirt off.”
With shaky fingers, she lifted the cotton hem, watching his eyes move down to devour the sight. She revealed her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. His jaw loosened, his pupils darkened, his breath slowed to a ragged pull.
“All the way,” he said.
She slipped it over her head, dragging the long, damp hair through, unintentionally making the extensions fan out next to her face. She held the undershirt up in one hand.
“Here’s your shirt, Lang.”
He took it and threw it across the room. “Now the jeans.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at her tone.
What was the matter? What could she tell him? That she’d never…. No. He’d stop. He’d ask. He wouldn’t believe her unless she told him the whole story. He’d demand to know what she’d refuse to tell.
“What is it, Vivi?”
“Ummm…I forgot to wear underpants.”
That made one side of his mouth hitch up with sexy interest. “Yeah? Let me see.”
She reached for the jeans snap, popped it, and unzipped, never taking her eyes from his.
But he looked down, inhaling slowly as she pushed the jeans down, slowly lifting to get her hips to reveal…everything to him.
“Christ, you’re gorgeous.” He barely breathed the words, and they obliterated every argument threatening to make an appearance in her head.
He helped drag the jeans off her completely and tossed them like the shirt.
Then she lay completely naked before him, barely able to take the next breath. Could he see her heart clobbering her chest? Could he hear the blood rushing though her? Could he possibly know what this meant to her?
“So why’d you change your mind?” he asked, kneeling above her, burning every inch with his eyes, splaying his fingers hands like a maestro about to play. “A few hours ago, you said you were morally opposed to friends with benes…now, you’re pretty friendly.”
“The friend saved my life.”
His hands came down and closed over her fists, which, she only realized then, were clenching the comforter. “I don’t need you to reward me.”
“I’m not rewarding you.”
His eyes grew smoky as he took another slow trip over every inch of her. “Then what are you doing?”
“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” Years. “So please kiss me. Please.”
“I will.” He almost smiled, his eyes tapering. “I’m trying to decide where to start.”
She closed her eyes and tried to breath. “Anywhere you want.”
He lowered his head to her mouth, but skimmed away before they made contact, blowing soft air over her throat, collarbone, her cleavage. His tongue flicked over her breast, and she sucked in a breath, but he moved south, a kiss on her stomach, a brush of lips over her naval, the scrape of his cheek right on her pelvic bone.
She let go of the comforter, moved her hands to his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “This is where I want to start.”
Yes. Oh, God, yes. This.