“You didn’t even need to unbutton it,” she says, her expression smug. “The shirt’s oversized.”

I could give two shits about the shirt. All I can do is stare at her chest. The gentle swell of her breasts straining against the smooth fabric of her bra. Her skin glows, I swear to God. She’s pale and unblemished, with a slender waist and long torso. Not overly curvy, but just enough for me to settle my hands on her hips as I contemplate her.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper in admiration.

“And you’re a flatterer,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “I’m nothing special.”

“Please. You’re stunning.” I don’t give compliments like this lightly. She truly is beautiful. Stunning. Maybe she doesn’t know how to take a compliment. Maybe that asshole ex of hers is still in her head, making her feel inadequate.

I want to show her that she’s more than what that guy thinks. What anyone thinks. She’s unique. Special. The prettiest woman I’ve ever been with.

Somehow we end up on the bed, my shirt long gone, and when I hover above her, leaning down to find her lips once more, our skin connects.

And I swear to God it fucking sizzles.

She pulls me into her, her hands searching. Smoothing across my shoulders, my chest. Up and down my back, like she can’t get enough of me. We kiss hungrily and I slip a hand in between us, tracing the top of one breast along the edge of her bra with a single finger, making her shiver as gooseflesh rises, pebbling her skin.

I kiss her neck as I slide down her body, my mouth following. I kiss her collarbone, her chest. Her breasts. Her stomach. I don’t remove any clothing, I just explore what’s readily available, my cock already aching to get inside her.

She grips my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin as she throws her head back, her eyes closed. I stare at her, watching in fascination as the rosy flush sweeps over her chest and up her neck. After only a few seconds of my staring she cracks open her eyes to study me, a frown forming on her face.

“What are you doing?”

“Staring at you,” I tell her truthfully. “You want me to stop?”

“Staring at me?”

I chuckle. “Everything I’m doing to you—do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep going?”

I don’t normally ask so many questions. But there’s something about this woman that makes me feel like I should check in with her first. She’s vulnerable A little nervous. I don’t want to push so hard she ends up running.

Amelia nods, and when I lean in to drop a kiss in the valley in between her breasts, she sighs. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all the permission I need.

It’s on after that. I get the bra off of her, and when her breasts spring free, I gather them in my hands, bringing them together as I rain kisses on her abundant flesh. I circle one nipple with my tongue, then the other, moving back and forth before I draw one into my mouth and suck it.