His eyes locked on her exposed breasts, and a low, appreciative rumble rolled up his throat. “You weren’t wearing a bra at dinner, milaya.”

“I’m barely a 34C, Kir, and the jump from a B to a C cup is more wishful thinking than anything. Unless I’m sporting a fitted T-shirt, planning on vigorous exercise, or hanging out in Antarctica, I can get away without wearing bras just about anywhere.”

“Perhaps.” He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric at her hips and pushed her dress to the floor. “But now that I know the possibility exists, I’ll be wondering if other men notice and will have to fight the urge to murder anyone who so much as glances at your chest.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Slowly sinking to his heels in front of her, he teased his fingers over the silky surface of her boy shorts. His breath when he spoke whispered against her inner thighs. “Perhaps I wouldn’t murder them.” He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, languidly pulled them toward her ankles, then looked up. “But I assure you, they would never again dare to covet what’s mine.”

Lost.

Found.

Possessed.

He was crouched before her. An undeniably submissive pose on anyone else, but there was no mistaking who was in charge in that moment. Who was the hunter, and who was the hunted.

She gloried in it. Let what was left of her worries and the need for control slip like an invisible cloak from her shoulders and embraced the promise behind his eyes as he stood. Surrendered to the magic of his touch against her exposed skin. Luxuriated in his kiss until the only thing that existed was the press of his body against hers and their connection.

From the very beginning, it had been this way with them. A unique bond her mind struggled to understand, but that a deeper, more instinctual part of herself not only accepted, but craved. A natural flow. A grounding the same as electricity seeking contact with the earth. Her energy rooted itself in him. Found indescribable silence, peace and pleasure within his arms.

He maneuvered them both to the bed. Leisurely tossed aside pillows and peeled the silky comforter from beneath her until they lay beside each other in a tangle of arms and legs. Sensation was all she knew. All she needed. The cool crisp sheets. Kir’s taut hot skin. The taste of him. The scent of him. The brush of his fingertips along the curve of her hip, and the teasing path he drew along the top and lower swells of her breasts.

It was heaven. An indulgence she was content to ride as he slowly built her pleasure. Trusted and let him guide her at the pace he’d chosen.

She stroked his upper arms. His shoulders. His chest and each defined indentation along his belly, savoring the strength of him and the way his muscles moved beneath her palms. So lost in her exploration and the demand of his lips, the brush of his boxer briefs against her fingertips was a shock. She pulled away from his mouth only enough to meet his gaze and hooked her fingers in the waistband. “Why are these on?”