What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(59)

His hand went to his wrist. Slowly, he slipped off his watch—she’d forgotten about his stupid watch—leaving him only in jeans with—what?—beneath. She couldn’t catch a deep breath. She moved back and unfastened her navy slacks. Looking him squarely in the eye, she tugged them down.

Her legs had always been her best feature—long, slender, and strong—a dancer’s legs, and his gaze lingered. Endless seconds ticked by before he stepped back and pulled off his slacks. He wore a pair of gray knit End Zone boxer briefs that molded to a sizable erection. She stared at it.

“Now your panties,” he said, approaching the grille again.

She’d never been so aroused, and they hadn’t exchanged a single touch. She unfastened her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, but she curled her hands over the lacy cups to keep them in place and moved back to the grille. “Work for it,” she whispered.

His voice grew husky. “I’m going to have to trust you on this one.”

He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his End Zones, worked them down, and stood in front of her magnificently naked. She grazed him with her eyes, the wide tanned shoulders, the muscular chest, the narrow hips a few shades paler than the rest of him. She barely felt her bra drifting through her fingers.

“Step back,” he said on a gruff whisper.

He was using her, and she was using him, and she didn’t care. She moved into the center of the dressing room and drew off her fragile nylon panties. He gazed at her with such intensity her skin prickled. He’d been with women far more beautiful, but she experienced none of the grinding insecurity she’d suffered with Lance. This was Bram. She didn’t care about his opinion. She only cared about his body. She tilted her head. “Stand back so I can look at you again.”

But his patience had ended. “The game’s over. We’re getting out of here. Now.”

She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay in this sensual fantasy world forever. She pulled the ice-blue petal bra from its hook. “I wonder how this will look.”

“You’re putting clothes on?”

“I need to check the fit.” She turned her naked bottom to him and donned the bra. Each cup was made up of three silky petals. She faced him again and, without a word, unfastened each petal, the sides first, and then the center. Taking forever.

His eyes glittered through the grille. “You’re killing me.”

“I know.” She snagged the matching panties from their hook and stood back so he could watch her slip them on. They were open at the crotch. “These fit well, don’t you think?”

“I can’t think. Come here.”

She took her time approaching the peephole. When she got there, he whispered, “Closer.”

They pressed their faces to the grille, and their mouths met through the whirls of black metal. Only their mouths.

And then the earth moved.

Really moved.

Or at least the wall. Her eyes flew open. She gave a startled gasp as the last obstruction between them swung inward. She should have known a shop as inventive as Provocative wouldn’t overlook something like this. Her feeling of safety dissolved.

Bram ducked and came through. “Not everyone gets told about the door.”

She’d never had sex without love, and Bram offered only dirty thrills. She knew exactly how duplicitous he was, how undependable. She had no illusions. Her eyes were wide open. Exactly the way she wanted it. “This is only our first date.”

“One hell of a date.”

He secured the door behind him and looked down at her naked breasts, showcased by the open-cup bra. “Lady, I do love your underwear.” The back of his knuckles brushed her nipple. He took one of the gauzy petals, drew it up, and fastened it. Then he suckled her through the frail barrier.

Her legs grew weak. He pulled her down on the big tufted ottoman so that she straddled his thighs. They kissed. He suckled. She sank her fingers into his hair and bit her lips to keep from crying out. His thighs had pushed her own far apart. She still wore the panties that had no crotch. He separated the nylon fabric, reached into her silk, and played until she was trembling with desire.

When she couldn’t tolerate it any longer, she braced her knees on the ottoman, lifted herself upon him, and slowly took him into her body.

His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn’t try to push himself into her. Instead, he gave her all the time she needed to accept him. And she took advantage. Wicked advantage. As soon as she gained a hard-earned inch, she gave it up and started all over again. His shoulders grew slick with sweat. She didn’t care about his need—about whether she was pleasing him. She didn’t care about his feelings, his fantasies, his ego. All she cared about was what he could do for her. And if he didn’t satisfy her—if, at the end, he turned out to be a dud—she wouldn’t make up excuses for him as she had with Lance. Instead, she’d complain loud and long until he got it right. Although it didn’t seem as though that would be necessary.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he said through gritted teeth. But still he let her do as she wanted until she became so mindless that she had to give up the game. Only then did he dig his fingers into her bottom and pull her down hard upon him.

They couldn’t make any noise. Only a thin wall shielded them from exposure. He buried his face in her breasts and rubbed her where their bodies joined. She arched against his hand, threw back her head, clutched his shoulders, and joined him on a wild, silent ride.