He was never more grateful that he had a small house. He shoved the bedroom door open and kicked it closed with his foot before slowly lowering her to the mattress with the care she deserved.

For a moment, he stood and stared down at her. She’s in my bed. Her hair spread on my pillow. Finally.

She held his gaze for a few hard beats of his heart before rising to her knees, the movement fluid and graceful. But then she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and yanked him forward. He stumbled, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

“I like your T-shirts,” she said. Letting go of the fabric, she began unbuttoning the shirt, starting at the top. “This hides too much. Your T-shirts show off every one of your muscles.” She made quick work of the buttons, making another pleased sound when she revealed his chest, but when he said nothing, she glanced up at him uncertainly through her lashes, her teeth biting her lower lip as her hands flattened on his pecs. “Is this all right?”

He could only nod. She’s touching me. He’d fantasized about this moment so many times. But reality was . . . To say it was better was the understatement of the fucking century. He covered her hands with his, moving them back and forth over his chest, sucking in a breath when her fingertips grazed his nipples.

Her uncertainty fled. “You like that,” she murmured and again he could only nod. Her lips quirked up. “Good to know. How about this?” She licked one nipple delicately before latching on to the other and abruptly sucking hard.

A groan filled the air and he realized it had come from him. His fingers threaded through her hair and he tugged gently, tilting her face up so that he could take her mouth.

Mine. She’s mine. God. This time the groan was hers as he ate at her mouth, licking and nipping until she opened for him. “Finally mine,” he muttered.

“Yes.” She pushed his shirt off his shoulders then pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard, her eyes on his tats. She touched him again, skimming her fingertips over each curve and angle of the designs he’d had inked onto his skin, pulling another groan from his throat. “These are magnificent.” She looked up. Her eyes were mismatched in color, but were filled with the same aroused determination. “Next time I want to run my tongue over them.”

Next time. His cock pulsed in his pants and his hips thrust forward, all on their own. “Dani.” It was the only word he could summon, but it must have been enough, because she smiled at him.

“Diesel.” Her fingers trailed over the tats that ran down his sides, over his obliques, then dipped lower, toying with the button on his trousers. “How far down does the ink go?”

“Find out,” he growled, and she smiled again.