Page 16 of The Baker's Dozen

There’s a firm possessiveness to his grip that spurs in me a desire to be his.

If even just for thisonenight.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to that tender place beneath my earlobe and I close my eyes, tilting my head to offer myself up to his mouth. Instead, he lowers into a crouch behind me, sliding his palms down my legs. Heat follows in the wake of his touch, and by the time he reaches the hem of my pencil skirt midcalf, I’m a hot, flustered mess, breathing far too heavily for the silence of his hotel suite.

Butgood God, this man’s touch is like pure fire.

Dawson tucks his hands up beneath the fabric of the skirt, his hot palms grazing my flesh as he runs them up over my knees and onto my thighs, pushing the skirt up as he moves. When he reaches the apex of my legs, his fingertips millimeters away from my pussy, I suck in a breath, biting down on my bottom lip as I wait for more. After a torturously long second, he moves his hands to my hips once more, and it takes all of my effort not to whine in protest. His fingers had been so close.

So. Close.

But then he grips my ass, kneading the flesh in a firm, unforgiving way that makes my knees want to buckle. His breath teases the skin of my left cheek, then he licks a slow stroke over the flesh.

And then hebitesme.

I yelp in response, but his grip tightens and his teeth release me. His mouth closes over the place he just bit, and his tongue flicks against my skin. When he begins to suck, marking me almost painfully, I shiver in his hands as heat pools between my legs.

I’m a needy, wanton mess—and I don’t know how much longer I can survive this delicious torture.

When his mouth releases the meat of my ass cheek, I nearly groan at thepopthat echoes through the room.

Why is that so fucking sexy?

Another tremor shakes my body as he rubs his thumb over the mark he just left on my rump.

“You have the most incredible ass,” Dawson murmurs. He presses his face into the crease between my cheeks and I tense—because what the fuck?—but then he makes this primal, needy sound deep in his throat and I think I’d allow this man access to every single inch of me. He bites me again, more playfully this time, and when he drops his hands, I instantly hate the loss of his touch.

“Turn around,cher.”

I do as I’m told and am quickly rewarded with a sexy smirk from my handsome stranger.

“Let me see that beautiful body, angel.” Kneeling now, he leans back to sit on his heels and my gaze falls to the obvious bulge pressing against his jeans.

“You’re a bit overdressed,” I murmur.

He cocks one eyebrow in challenge and I get to work on my clothes.

I don’t take my time. There will be no seductive striptease tonight, not when I’m buzzing with anticipation and drenched with desire.

Once my clothes are in a heap at my feet, my skin pebbles with goosebumps as Dawson trails his gaze over my body appreciatively.

Slowly.

Drinking me in like we have the rest of our lives to spend together and what’s the rush?

I try not to fidget as the heat in his gaze caresses me from head to toe.

I’ve never done this before, never just stood naked in front of a stranger and let them ogle me. Hell, I’ve never even done this with a man I trusted and loved. I’ve been a big girl all my life, taught by the woman who raised me—and countless outside sources like magazines and media—to hide my curves. Even when encouraged to embrace them, women are shown how to do somodestly.

But somehow, in this moment, withthisman, I’ve never felt more beautiful.

Or cherished.

Which is strange, I realize, but I don’t want to waste a minute of this feeling on analyzingwhyit feels good. It just does.

His eyes meet mine again and he says, “Tell me something, Sophie.”

Ungh. Anything.

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