Tell me I’m yours now. It felt as if he’d given her all his secret tenderness, just handed it to her and asked her to take care of it. And she would. She couldn’t do anything but. Only—the moment seemed so solemn, she felt a little guilty for finding it mind-blowingly hot as well.

But that couldn’t be helped. Because here was Jacob, studying her with steely intensity, touching her like he owned her, asking her to own him. So, really, was it any wonder she wanted to rip his clothes off?

“You’re mine,” she agreed, unbuttoning his shirt, “and you’re impossibly hot, Jacob Wayne. Did you know that?”

He smiled a little, that cautious curve of the lips that made her heart flutter. “I try. Since I know you like it, and all.”

“Oh—so you know what a mess you make of me.” She couldn’t stop her own smile, even as fire pulsed through her veins and his bare chest became visible, inch by inch.

“Yes, I know,” he said, reaching behind her to wrestle with the dress’s zipper. “You are beautifully obvious. Sometimes you look at me and I can see you thinking about screwing my brains out. You—” The zipper gave with a metallic whisper and he grinned that wolfish grin, sharp and anticipatory. “Oh, good. Now you can be naked.” He pushed the dress down, and when she stood before him completely bare, all the humor left his expression. Nothing remained but stark, explicit longing as he bit his lip and groaned. When he shoved a hand against his erection, Eve felt her clit ache for the want of him. She pressed her thighs together, shifted her hips, but it didn’t help.

She was wet and swollen and desperate for one thing only.

So she stopped taking her time and went for his belt.

Chapter Eighteen

Restraint forced Jacob to grab Eve’s wrist. Heart-pounding need begged him to relax and let her get the fuck on with it.

But if he let go now—when his body shook with the force of his lust, when his mind was teetering at a cliff’s edge—he couldn’t make this good for her. And he needed it to be good for her, as opposed to good for him, which would equal ten minutes of pounding her over the desk until he came so hard his brain fell out.

So he held her wrist, and met her eyes, and said, “Slow down, Sunshine.”

She cocked her head, curious. “Any particular reason?”

“Yes. I’m this close to bending you over, and your apparent enthusiasm isn’t helping.” Because she was just so—into him. So clearly, impossibly into him. Pupils blown like she was high, lips slick and swollen from kissing him, rubbing her body against his like a cat every chance she got. And fuck, what a body—taking her dress off had been a miscalculation, but in Jacob’s defense, he’d only ever seen her naked in the shadows. He’d had no idea that the sight of her fully illuminated—all softness and abundance and brown, velvet skin—would steal his higher cognitive function.