Page 11 of Regards, Mia

“Shit.” Never have I ever torn a man’s clothes off before. “Sorry.”

Jay’s chuckle vibrates against my neck. “Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, then reaches for the remaining buttons on his shirt. His long, nimble fingers make quick work of them, and he spreads it open, allowing me my first glimpse of hischiseled torso.

My jaw drops as he spreads open the fabric of his shirt, revealing muscles, tanned skin, and ink.

So much ink. So much for me to taste.

RESPECTis inked in traditional script across his upper chest.

A hum of appreciation runs through me. This word means more to me than he could ever know. If there is one thing I’ve always craved, it’s respect. I trace my fingers over the capital letters, imagining the pain that went with every prick of the needle.

Lower down, the feathered wings of a proud eagle spread over his pecs and a black-and-red dragon with two heads coils across his abdomen.

His tattoos are beautiful, intricately drawn by an artist’s hand.

I lick my lips, but before I can bend to my delectable task, he grabs my face and kisses me.

His tongue streaks possessively into my mouth, then slides across my lower lip. He takes, then teases, takes again. The glide of his tongue seduces me, makes me come undone.

I wonder how it would feel on the rest of my body.

As if I’ve said the desire out loud, Jay trails a path of kisses down my neck. His hands glide up my ribcage and skim lightly over my breasts.

My nipples peak under his brief touch. Shameless nipples, standing at attention, begging for more.

He flicks his tongue in the hollow of my throat, then bends down to brush his lips over my nipple through my blouse. I gasp at the sensation of lace and silk rubbing against my sensitive skin.

A satisfied smile curves his lips as his gaze roams over my chest. “You’re so fucking hot, Mia.”

I feel the same about him. He’s dangerously hot. I’m going to get burned and enjoy every fucking moment in the fire.

I’m really doing this.

My dry spell is about to end, and I don’t even know the man I’m going to bed with.

I don’t know his sexual history.

I don’t care.

He backs me up, guiding me across the large expanse of open living space until I’m pressed up against the back of a sofa.

“That’s why I gave you my jacket,” he says, pressing his knee between my legs to part them. “You were only wearing this top.” He plucks at the tiny buttons on my blouse, his fingers big, confident and extremely knowledgeable of women’s garments. “You were cold, and I could see the outline of your nipples.”

His fingers slide down the center of my chest, between my breasts, down to my navel, then slowly back up. I gasp as he rubs his thumb over my aching nipple.

He kisses my neck, his mouth caressing my skin, his breath warm and inviting.

“I got instantly hard.” He pinches my nipple through the lace of my bra, and goosebumps ripple across my skin. “And possessive.”

His fingers continue playing with my nipple as his other hand gathers my skirt, pushing it up my hips. I ache to get closer, and part my legs for him, scooting back so I’m perching on the back of his plush leather sofa, giving him all the access he wants.

All he has to do is take it.

I’ve never wanted to be taken so badly in my life.

His deft fingers push down the lace of my bra over the top of my breast, exposing my nipple. Bending his head, he swirls his tongue around the hardened flesh and sucks deeply.

A moan escapes my mouth, and my hands go to his hair, holding him close as he draws my nipple between his lips, sucking and licking until my pulse hammers in my ears.

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