“You taste good. I knew you would.”

She doesn’t know what to say. I bring my mouth to her ear and inhale, touching the scruff of my jaw to her smooth cheek as I take in her scent. Smell her want. And when I lean my face down and push her sweater aside to kiss the delicate curve of her neck, she gasps, sets her hands flat to my chest, but again, she doesn’t push me away.

I draw back. My dick is hard. She sees it pressing against my pants and swallows when she returns her dark eyes to mine, blacker now with her pupils dilated. Before she can say anything, I pull her sweater over her head and lift her up to set her on the counter. With my hands on her thighs, I push her legs wide and stand between them.

“I liked looking at you that night,” I say. She’s almost at eye level now. Just has to tilt her head up a little.

“What?” her voice wavers when she asks it.

“I liked it. Liked you naked. I liked opening you. Seeing you. All of you. And after I brought you home, I looked at your pictures. Memorized them.”

I draw her closer, so her legs are dangling off the counter and she can feel me between them. Her bra is lace and not padded so I can see her pebbled nipples. I bring my mouth to one small mound, rub the scruff of my jaw against it, suck the nipple, liking the rough of the lace against the softness of her skin.

Her hands are on my shoulders. “I—”

She swallows whatever she was about to say when I pull back, touch my fingers to her chest, over her breasts, her nipples. Slowly, I lift her breasts out of the cups, tuck the lace beneath each and look at her. Meet her eyes again as I lift her off the counter and she stands before me. I slide one hand down over her belly, undo the buttons of her jeans, the zipper. I slip my hand inside, into her panties, and I cup her sex and when I do, she closes her eyes and sucks in a breath and she’s wet and I smell her and I want her.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper.

I slide a finger inside her, feel her warmth. I watch her when I do. Her mouth is open, her eyes locked on mine. Desire burns inside them. The musky scent of it hangs heavy in the room between us.

“You’re wet,” I say, rubbing the hard nub of her clit between thumb and forefinger.

She closes her eyes, bites her lip. Presses her hands against me. “No.”