Anger fills me and I tamp it down. No need to get worked up over an asshole who’s not in her life anymore. “I don’t even know him, but I hate this guy.”

Couldn’t help but say something, though.

She laughs. “He’s the worst.”

“We shouldn’t talk about him anymore.” I set the picture frame back on her dresser before I pull her into my arms. “He’s not worth our breath.”

“He definitely isn’t,” she agrees, tilting her head back to accept my kiss.

I try not to take it too far, too soon, but this woman awakens something in me that I’ve never felt before. The moment our mouths connect, I want to consume her. The second I settle my hands on her body, I want to explore every inch of it. I want to slowly remove her clothing and touch her everywhere with my hands. My mouth.

Does she feel the same way? Is she experiencing this too?

Cupping her face, I devour her eager mouth, thrusting my tongue against hers, my erection swelling beneath the fly of my jeans. She returns the kiss eagerly, her hands sliding up and down my back, pulling me in toward her.

It feels like we’re moving fast, but then again, it also feels natural, being with her like this. Having her tug on the back of my shirt so she can slip her hands beneath it, her cool fingertips touching my hot skin. I’m tempted to pick her up and take her over to the bed. She’s not that big and I lift shit all day long for a living. I’m sure I could haul her over to that bed real easy.

But I’m not about to push. Not yet. I need to feel this woman out first.

Maybe even feel her up too. Ha.

I start walking her toward the bed. Slowly at first. Never taking my mouth off of hers. She moves her hands to the front of my shirt, her fingers slipping over the buttons and undoing them with ease. She spreads my shirt open, her hands finding my chest, a sigh leaving her when her fingers trace over my pecs.

“You’re muscular,” she murmurs against my lips.

“I work hard every day,” I tell her, nipping at her lower lip.

She laughs. Kisses me some more as her hands continue their exploration. She trails her fingers along my rib cage. They dance across my stomach.

Before they settle just above the waistband of my jeans.

Well, damn. I guess I’m not the only one who’s moving fast.

Deciding to go along with her plan, I reach for the front of her shirt as well, my fingers messing with the tiny buttons. But my fingers are big and I’m already fumbling like a virgin with his first girl. She pulls out of my arms, away from my seeking fingers, and whisks the shirt up and over her head, so she’s standing in front of me in just a smooth black bra and her black pants.