Page 47 of Not That Impossible

“I can’t do this!” I said.

A complicated series of emotions rushed across his face. It settled on hard and blank. “Right,” he said.

“Oh. We are definitely doingthis—” I patted his hard dick and made him hiss, “—but your clothes have to come off. And, dude, you’re still wearing your shoes.”

“We are definitelynotdoing this if you call me dude ever again.”

“Noted.”

I scrambled down the bed, flashing him what I hoped was a great view of my butt, which he seemed to have a bit of a thing for, and straddled his shins. I got to work unlacing his shoes. He took his knots seriously. I tugged and picked at one but it wouldn’t come undone.

“Jasper,” he said. “Let me do it.”

“I’ve got it.” I really didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind, and I felt the sex magic of the moment draining away by the second. “Hold still. I’ve got it. I’ve—oh.”

He sat up, slid his hands under my arms, and hauled me back. I was lying on top of him with my back to his front, and he’d locked his legs around me.

“I said—” he bit the side of my neck, “—let. Me. Do. It.”

I shuddered in his arms. “Liam.” I sounded wrecked already. “Please.”

He groaned into my neck and rubbed against me. The feeling of clothes against my naked body was divine and—ew.Ew, no. Still crime scene clothes.

I shuddered again. Not in a sexy way this time. “Liam,” I complained. “You’re wearing crime scene clothes! And your shoes! On my bed!”

“Ah,” he said, and shook beneath me. He rolled me off him. “I had no idea you were so fussy.”

I went with the roll and landed on my stomach again. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch as he undressed. Absently, I pushed into the duvet. That felt nice. I—

He stopped unbuttoning his shirt long enough to reach down and grab my arse. He squeezed until I gasped. “None of that,” he said. “Learn some patience.”

“Learn some patience?” I managed to force out when the indignation faded. “Patience?Me?”

I had been waiting for this moment foryears!

He’d got his shoes off, his shirt was loose, and he was unbuttoning his fly.

“I can guarantee,” I said, “that I am the most patient man you’ve ever met in your whole damn life.” I trailed off into silence when, holding my gaze, he unzipped his trousers.

I swallowed hard.

One side of his lips lifted.

He did not get his dick out.

Instead, he returned his attention to his shirt. He methodically took it off one shoulder, then the other, and then—

“Why are you doing this to me!” I moaned, pressing my forehead into the duvet and squeezing my eyes shut. “Why are you so slow? I could have stripped you naked in a quarter of the time it’s taken you, Liam. Seriously, I—oh, shit.”

He must have thrown the rest of his clothes off as soon as I looked away, because the mattress dipped and I felt him against me. Finally.

All of him.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Ohhhh…”

“Yeah,” he said into my ear, and moved over me, settling.

For a moment we lay there together. I reached out to him with every part of my being, drinking in this moment—his heat, his weight, his heart beating into my back.

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