Page 31 of Protected By West
Her hair was handfuls of silk.
Images of her hair in his hand, wrapped around his fist-
Ah fuck.
He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and the other, he couldn't seem to let go of her hair if he tried.
Tugging on it, she opened her mouth on a gasp, and he went in, chasing after her taste.
And she was sweeter than the crystallized sugar on his mom's peach cobbler.
Almost as if she heard his thoughts, Tracy's hands found his back. She fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him back.
He looked down at her in the light from the bathroom with its open door.
She was gold, gilded like she was standing in firelight, and he knew that would be another fantasy to fulfill.
Hell, he'd put a damn fireplace in his house if that's what it would take.
"Why are you stopping me?"
She looked up at him, her eyes bright and her lips already swollen from his kisses.
He liked the way she looked, watching him like that.
"I'm not stopping you."
Weston lifted a brow and turned to look back toward his shoulder. "Either that or you're trying to rip off my shirt."
Her eyes widened for a second before she tipped her head to the side. "You know," her voice had softened and there was a deeper tone, "that's not a bad idea."
A moment later, her hands moved around to the front of his shirt and started working on his buttons.
Not to be outdone, he reached down for his belt.
Her hands faltered, her chin dropping down, hiding her eyes from him.
Babe-"
Her head snapped up and he saw her tongue sweep out over her lower lip.
He kissed her again, his tongue rubbing against hers as together, they opened his shirt and belt.
Then it was his turn to fumble, something his old High School coach would have laughed about. He'd reached for the buttons down the fly of his jeans, but her hands were on his chest and his fingers couldn't seem to do what they were supposed to.
With his luck he might break a finger just trying to get his fly down, but he managed with luck.
Then he switched tactical approaches and reached for her clothes, grasping a hold of her t-shirt. With a simple flex of his forearm he tugged the hem of her shirt free.
His hands moved under her T-shirt, and he felt her gasp against his mouth.
He flattened his palms against her belly and smoothed his hands up higher, only stopping when he felt her fingertips brushing against his chest. He knew she kept her nails trim and painted, but feeling the brush of her nails against his skin, tickling the hair he had on his chest, sent electricity through every nerve in his body and it made him glad that he hadn't managed to open the buttons on his fly or there'd be no mistaking just how turned on he was.
Tracy broke their kiss and looked down, her gaze fixed on her hands, watching as her fingertips traced random paths across his chest.
He moved his hands around her sides and flattened them against her lower back, his fingertips slipping beneath her waistband. "Careful."
"Careful?" She trailed her fingertips down his chest, down over his abs and-
