Page 59 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“I think that could be arranged,” I say, my voice low.
Yet again, his eyes rake over me, head to toe, several times. “Have I mentioned yet how goddamn incredible you look this evening?”
I shake my head. “That hasn’t come up, no.”
He growls. “God, I’m an idiot. It’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.”
“What have you been thinking?”
He gestures at me, sweeping his hand up and down. “You, in that dress—you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh, a barking outburst. “Let’s not be ridiculous, Jesse. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
His hands tighten, and he yanks me roughly up against him. “You think I’m joking?” he growls, unamused.
Any hilarity I may have felt vanishes abruptly at the hardness of his body against mine, at the heat and ferocity in his voice. “I—I haven’t felt that way in a long time, so it’s a little hard for me to believe.”
“You don’t have to believe it yourself,” he murmurs. “You just have to know that I believe it.”
“I think you maybe, possibly, are laying it on a little thick,” I admit. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m a sure thing, at least for tonight.”
Jesse’s growl is actually a little scary. “You’ve already accused me of that once, Imogen, and I don’t fuckin’ appreciate it.” His fingers dig into my hips and he holds me hard against his big body, so I have to tilt my head back to meet his fiery brown gaze. “You need to understand something about me, babe. I don’t lay anything on thick. I don’t flatter, or charm, or play games. I’m giving you the raw, unvarnished truth as I see it and feel it. So if I’m standing here telling you I think you, in that sexy-as-fuck little red dress and gold heels, are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes or hands on, you best believe that down to your goddamn atoms. Because I mean that shit with everything I’ve got.”
“I believe you,” I whisper. And I do. You can’t fake intensity like that.
“Do you?” he rumbles. “I’m not so sure. I think maybe you need some convincing.”
I’m trying to formulate a sassy, flirty response still when he slides one palm up my back to cup the back of my head, and then his lips slant across mine. My breath catches as he kisses me—at first it’s a hot whirlwind of lips and teeth, his fingers clutching my nape and clawing into the flesh above my hip. And then he slows it, softening his grip on me, softening his mouth on mine and dipping his tongue against mine. I claw my fingers into fists in his shirt and lift up on my toes, a whimper in my throat.
I’m the first to go for flesh—I need more of him, of his skin, his heat, and his muscle. My fingers release his shirt and find the hem, and slip underneath to scour the hard plane of his stomach. Pushing upward, lifting the shirt, my thumbs following the centerline of his chest, up his sternum and between his pecs. He crosses his arms and peels the pesky T-shirt off and tosses it aside, and I moan in delight at the firm warmth of his chest under my hands. I explore his torso as we kiss, palming his pecs and roaming down his sides, up his back to curl my hands over his shoulders. With each touch, each exploration of his muscled body, I press closer, delving deeper into the kiss, devouring his lips and tongue and breathing his breath.
He rumbles in his chest as I roam his body. His hands leave my nape and hip, and begin their own exploration. He tugs the straps of my dress aside and shoves them down the sides of my arms, baring my shoulders, and then his hands skate down the outsides of my biceps, then jump to my waist. For a moment, his hands span my waist, and then they edge around to the small of my back; my breath catches in my throat and I moan into his mouth as he cups my ass in his hands. A firm grip, then, before he squeezes, kneads, smoothing in circles, teasing and toying with the heft and the bounce.
He breaks the kiss, his palms possessively gripping my buttocks. “Have I mentioned yet how much I love this?” He squeezes as he says this, making sure I know exactly what he’s talking about. “It’s perfect.”
I murmur a laugh. “Funny, because when I called Audra to come over this morning, she told me to get my big beautiful ass into some workout gear, and I got upset that she called my butt big. And she said she was pretty certain you—how did she put it? She said you probably, and I quote, ‘harbor a deep and eternal appreciation for the size and shape of my derrière.’”
