He shifts to his side, running his hand over the front of my thigh, stopping at the fastener there. Taking hold of the tiny ribbon between the rubber grip and the stocking, he tugs. The catch releases. He gives me a smug smile I’d have half a mind to wipe off his face if it didn’t light up every nerve in my body. “I did my research.”

Rising to his knees, he maintains a gentle hold on my thigh, keeping it elevated. He smooths his palms down the length of my leg to roll the fishnet stocking from me. He twirls it on the tip of his finger, looking a little too pleased with himself.

I narrow my eyes. “Beginner’s luck.”

He grins, letting the stocking fling from his finger, and slides his other hand up the length of my leg. He pauses to kiss the inside of my knee, then higher on my thigh, before lowering my leg to the bed.

I rest on my elbows and lift my other leg for him to take care of the second stocking. He makes short work of both fasteners, rolling the stocking down my leg just as before. The moment it’s off my toes, he tosses it behind him and leans over me.

“I looked up how to take off the belt, too.” His hand slides to my back, feeling for the catches there, and his lips meet mine again. We kiss with an urgency that builds with each hook and eye he releases. The garter belt goes slack.

He moves to his side and crooks a thumb beneath my bra strap. Eyes on mine, he guides the strap down my arm until the cup starts to follow, then watches its progress. The gauzy material slowly peels down, clear of the pastie, until the flesh of my breast is exposed. Light fingertips trace along the sensitive underside before palming me entirely. My body is molten.

He thumbs the pastie. “Will it hurt to take this off?”

“A little,” I answer, voice husky.

“I’ll be careful.”

The three words are so reassuring my breath falters. I bite in my lips and nod.

The discomfort is minor as he tentatively edges around the starburst, prying it up with care. I look down, belatedly relieved the double-stick has remained adhered to the pastie and not my nipple, though the distinct wrinkling of tape is clear on my areola.

“You okay?” Darcy says it with a tenderness matched by the gentle caress of his thumb over the erect pink tissue. I nod, his touch ridding me of speech, and he smiles, cockiness and insecurity dancing in his dark eyes. “This helping?”

“Yes.”