My head was swimming, lost in the pleasure he was drawing out of me. “Sounds like . . .” I gasped as his tongue flicked over my pulse. “Sounds like it would’ve . . . been a good plan.”

He lifted his head as he brought his hands to my shoulders, slipping his fingers under the thin, delicate straps. His eyes snared mine. “May I?”

God, he could be asking for anything at this point and I’d hand it over. I nodded, beyond words.

One side of his mouth curved up, and again, there was a pang deep in my chest as he grinned at me, all boyish charm and sensuality, and I knew I’d fallen for him all those years ago. There was no changing that, even though I knew he hadn’t fallen with me, maybe never would, it didn’t undo that he was already under my skin, a part of me.

With his burning gaze locked with mine, he slid the straps of my cami down to my elbows. I didn’t hesitate. Dropping my arms, I slipped them out, allowing the material to settle around my waist.

Reece kissed me softly and then he pulled back. His lashes lowered and I knew he was staring at me, and a bit of the haze lifted from my thoughts. Did he remember what I looked like from the alcohol-­filled night? Vulnerability slipped over my skin like an itchy sweater. I was barely a B cup and that was probably stretching it.

But he shuddered as he wrapped his hands around my bare breasts, touching me almost reverently. I looked down, breathless as he held me, his skin a darker tone against the pale and pinkness of mine.

“You’re beautiful,” he growled, grazing the pads of his thumbs over the hard nubs. I jerked as his lips kicked back into that grin. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, and then nodded just in case he didn’t get the message.

“I don’t remember what makes you move,” he said, catching my tip between agile fingers. “I don’t remember what drives you crazy.” He tugged gently, and I cried out. His lashes lifted, eyes full of hunger. “You’re sensitive.”

I was. Always had been sensitive there. Katie, stripper extraordinaire, once told me I was lucky because most women she knew really weren’t too big on foreplay of the busty kind.

Unable to look away, I watched him touch me. There was something highly erotic about this. Never before had I ever done this. Then again, most guys hadn’t really taken this much time, and when he lowered his hands to my hips, I thought he was moving on.

I was wrong.

He lifted me up so I was stretching above him and as I steadied myself by placing my hands on the back of the couch, he closed his mouth over the tip of my breast.

“Oh my God,” I cried out as he drew the puckered nipple into his mouth. “Reece, oh God . . .”