Page 27 of Outspoken Hearts
"Too long." His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my skin. "I don't want to be careful with you anymore, Eva."
"Good." I tug at his t-shirt. "Because I'm done with careful too."
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze searching. "Are you sure? About this? About us?"
Instead of answering with words, I grab the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes darken as they take in my lace-covered breasts, the soft curve of my stomach.
"I've never been more sure of anything," I say, suddenly feeling bold, powerful. "I want all of you, James. No holding back."
Something shifts in his expression—relief, desire, determination all mingling together. He lifts me in one fluid motion, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom.
"No more hiding," he promises against my neck, laying me down on his bed with surprising gentleness. "No more careful filtering."
"No more," I agree, pulling him down to me.
His weight settles over me, comforting and exciting all at once. I run my hands under his shirt, tracing the contours of his back, the solid muscle beneath warm skin. He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, like he's memorizing the taste of me.
When we break for air, I tug at his shirt again. "Off. I want to feel you."
He sits back on his heels, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. "Your turn," he says, his voice rough with desire.
I sit up, reaching behind to unhook my bra, suddenly shy despite my earlier boldness. But the way James looks at me—like I'm something precious, something he's been starving for—melts any hesitation.
"You're beautiful," he says, reverently tracing the curve of my breast with his fingertips.
"So are you." I reach for his belt buckle. "And wearing too many clothes."
He laughs, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. "Impatient."
"Always." I smile up at him. "It's part of my too-muchness."
His expression softens. "I love your too-muchness." Kissing my collarbone, then lower, he adds, "Love how you don't hold back, say what you think." His mouth closes over my nipple. "Love how responsive you are."
My back arches as he explores, his hands mapping my body with deliberate care. Each discovery—the spot at my throat, my hitched breath when teeth graze ribs, my shiver as fingers trace my waistband—he treats like revelation.
"James," I breathe, my hands tangled in his hair. "Please."
He looks up, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what? Tell me what you want, Eva."
"I want these off." I tug at his jeans. "I want to feel all of you."
He stands, unbuckling his belt and sliding his jeans down his legs. His boxers do little to hide his arousal, the outline of his erection making my mouth go dry with anticipation.
"Your turn," he says again, reaching for the button of my jeans.
I lift my hips as he slides them down, taking my underwear with them in one smooth motion. Then I'm naked before him, completely exposed, and the vulnerability of it makes my heart race.
James pauses, his gaze traveling over me with such naked appreciation that I feel myself flush.
"Eva," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?"
"I'm not?—"
"You are." He silences my protest with a kiss, settling beside me on the bed. "To me, you're perfect. Not because you don't have flaws, but because your flaws are part of what makes youyou."
His hand slides down my body, tracing curves and valleys, making me shiver. When his fingers find the wetness between my thighs, I gasp, arching into his touch.
"Is this okay?" he asks, circling gently.
