Page 215 of Branded
“I was thinking about how if I pull this”—my gaze jerked to her, watched her hand drift toward her middle—“then my entire dress will come loose.”
Wait, what?
But then her fingers, nails painted a bright red to match her lipstick, were moving again, drifting along the bodice of her dress, closing around a thin strip of fabric, and tugging.
Holy shit.
It was like a fucking magic trick.
One second my woman was fully clothed.
The next, the material was open, sliding down her arms, puddling to the floor, and looking damned good there. But that held my focus for only a heartbeat because Beth was there, and while she wasn’t naked, the little clothing she was wearing did nothing to cover her and absolutely everything to enhance, to tease, to tempt.
Black lace that cut so low her nipples seemed as though they would pop free with just one deep breath. Fire engine red ribbons attached to black mesh stockings. Panties that were barely there and?—
She turned around.
Sweet Christ.
Her underwear had a tiny red bow just at the precipice of both cheeks.
“So, I was thinking”—she spun back to face me, and fucking hell, those nipples did pop free, not with a deep breath, though, but rather, with an arch of her back—“that last time didn’t go so well, so maybe we can try a different position.”
My cock twitched, and I tried to stop to think.
But I barely had any blood left in my brain and the gears of my mind were working really slow.
Slow. Slow.
Right. I was supposed to be slowing things down.
Like a first date via a helicopter and taking her to my house was slow.
Not the point.
“Honey,” I whispered. “I think we’d better take things slow.”
Silence.
Then, “Do you want to take them slow? Is this too much?”
Concern in her eyes and voice and none of the liquid desire from a moment before. Fuck. “This isn’t too much,” I said, stepping close, even as I tried to keep my hands to myself. “But I don’t know what happened last time, sugarpie. I don’t want to do something that might trigger?—”
“It wasn’t you.”
I blinked.
“I was thinking about everything in my past and how that moment was so good. And I started spiraling, knowing that it couldn’t last, that something would ruin it”—a breath that brushed her breasts across my chest—“that I would ruin it,” she whispered. “Because I always ruin the good things in my life.”
“Baby—”
“I’m starting to realize that was shit implanted by my stepdad, because of what happened to my mom.”
I held my breath.
“I thought I could bury it.” A beat. “I thought I should bury it. But…” Her lips turned up into a sad smile. “I’m finally starting to think that’s a bad habit.”
I slid my hands down her arms. “I’m glad.”
