“Ty,” she said, a little desperate, grabbing the back of his head and trying to force the issue that way.

But he stopped altogether and pulled her hands off his head. “Put your hands in your back pockets,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked, a little jolt of desire hitting her between the thighs. She wasn’t sure why he wanted her to do that, but it sounded mildly kinky and she liked that.

He was already sliding her hands down into her back pockets, his own hands cupping hers, applying pressure so that together they were caressing and feeling her backside, her elbows bent and half-bare chest jutting toward him.

“Because you are so sexy, and I want to give you pleasure all night.”

Okay, then. She was good with that.

His hands retreated, leaving hers in place. “Don’t move them,” he told her, his eyes dark with desire.

It was an odd position, a strange, erotic feeling to be standing there, not knowing what he was going to do, but anticipating it, waiting with bated breath for the next touch. Slowly, he undid the rest of her buttons and pulled open her shirt.

“Where is your jacket?” he asked. “Did you leave it at the garage?”

Disoriented by the way his thumbs were skimming across her bare belly, she said, “No, I grabbed it. I think I left it in your car.”

“Good. It looked expensive. I’d hate to think it was lost.”

That was oddly touching and considerate, but she couldn’t care less about her blazer at the moment, especially when he popped the button on her jeans, but did nothing else, moving back up to lift her bra out of his way. Moving quickly, his mouth was suddenly on her, sucking her nipple hard.

Imogen let a moan go ahead and escape this time, then hitched in a breath when he gently bit her before abandoning her again. His hand cupped her breast, and he rubbed his thumb across her swollen and damp nipple, while his mouth migrated to the other tip, his tongue laving it in rhythm with his thumb, until Imogen was fighting for breath, her head lolling back.

She tried to pull her hands out to grip his hair for balance, but he sensed the movement and said, “Leave them.” Since it also resulted in his thumb descending to hold her hands in place in her pockets, Imogen went still. He went back to licking her nipple, still cupping the weight of her, but now his free hand gripped her backside, his fingers shifting down along the seam of her jeans, down, then up, down, then up, so that the friction heated her, and the tease of where he almost reached, then always retreated, had slick moisture easing down into her panties.

“Ty,” she said, not sure what she was asking for, her thoughts jumbled and erratic.