Page 110 of The Romance Line

It’s a question, not a demand. I’m not going to pressure her to take anything off. I don’t know if she’s stripping naked or not. She can take the lead.

“I do,” she says, then stretches out on the bed, shimmying up to the pillows. She’s still wearing her jeans and the shirt, but in no time she whisks off the jeans and she’s down to the shirt, and the panties that match her bralette—they’re red lace too.

I run a hand along her calf, savoring the soft feel of her skin. She takes the bottom of the shirt, slowly teases me with it and pulls it up, up, up, revealing her stomach that I want to kiss and lick.

I take her invitation and climb onto the bed right as she’s pulling up the top to show me her bralette. Cherry red, with a dainty ruffle along the top.

It hits me—this is the first time I’ve even had a peek ather tits and my mouth is watering. My chest is a furnace just from the hint of nipples under that sheer red lace.

“Like it?”

“Fucking love it,” I say, mesmerized as I roam my hands up her soft belly, push up the lace and free those tits. “Fuck me, they’re perfect.” They’re tight and the nipples are a dusky rose, and all I want to do is bury my face against that gorgeous flesh. I bend down, and suck on her right nipple, tugging on it, then drawing it between my lips. She gasps. And arches into me.

It’s fucking glorious, the way she responds. She grabs my head, determined to keep me right there.

Like I’d go anywhere else.

I move to her other breast, kissing, then flicking my tongue along the nipple.

“Max,” she moans, her fingers gripping me impossibly tighter, like they’re a vise, and she refuses to let go.

Good. I love that she wants this so much. Wants me this much. I spend several lust-fueled minutes sucking on her tits till she’s breathless and arching her hips, begging for me.

She pushes my head away.

I rise up. She sits, then reaches under her shirt, and performs the calisthenics that women can do, tugging her bra out one sleeve, then tossing it to the floor.

My chest floods with filthy gratitude. Is that a thing? I think it is, and I am feeling it in every cell in my body.

It’s not lost on me that our intimacy has been a striptease. Each time we’re together she takes off one more item of clothing. Every night she sheds one more garment. Shares more of herself. She’s down to nearly nothing, and this is huge for her. I want to keep earning the chance to please her.

She lies back down and pulls her shirt above her tits so the fabric is on top of her chest. She’s on display, and it can’t be easy for my woman. More of her scars are visible to me for the first time—the two jagged lines on her hip that I’ve seen, and now a hint of reddish-pink raised skin all along the side of her body. Those must extend to her back, the ones she’s most self-conscious of, the ones I can’t see now, and that’s okay.

This is her pace. This is what she needs from me. But this is what I can give her—the truth of my heart. “Love the way you look right now,” I tell her.

Her smile is instant and it’s mine. All mine.

I reach for her and slide my hands up her sides, touching the smooth skin on her right side, the bumpy skin on the left. I hate that guy who hurt her self-esteem, but I fucking love that he showed himself the door so I could kick it open. “In case you’re wondering, I’m calling you tomorrow. I’m dirty texting you tomorrow. I’m bringing you a London fog tomorrow,” I say.

She breathes out a long, shuddering sigh. “Fuck me tonight.”

And my clothes vanish in seconds. Then I run a hand up her leg and across the red lace of her panties. “Let me take these off too.”

“You better,” she says.

I slide them down her legs, taking my time, enjoying her being exposed to me. She’s glistening and the more I see, the harder I get. When her panties are all the way off, I bring them to my nose and inhale her greedily. “Fucking delicious,” I say, then, like the filthy man I am, I flick my tongue along the wet panel and taste her arousal.

She gasps, then shoves a hand between her thighs, playing with her clit.

Yes. Fucking yes.

I drop the panties to the floor and kneel between her legs, spreading her thighs. As she watches me, I stroke my dick. “Trust me, Everly,” I say, shuttling my fist down my hard length. “I want you even more than I did before.”

“Then get a condom, Max Lambert, and fuck me like you mean it.”

Yup. I’m even harder than I’d thought possible. Seconds later, I’m covering my dick, then hiking up her legs, pushing her knees toward those gorgeous tits so her pussy’s spread for me. “Look how wet you are,” I say.

“Do something about it.”

---