He trails the knuckles of one hand along my spine before giving the tie to the corseted back a firm tug. A soft chuckle sounds from deep in his throat. “Why do you still feel like forbidden fruit?” he asks as his deft fingers slip between the ribbon and the skin at the small of my back. The sound of the satin as it’s ripped through the corded loops is surprisingly sensual. Thick digits, roughened from years of plucking at his bass, offer the most delicious friction.

There’s nothing soft or delicate in his touch. Lyle Livingston is all man. And by some stroke of luck, all mine.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” I pant, finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright with the way my knees are wobbling. I’m teetering on the brink, and he hasn’t even finished undressing me yet.

Lyle brings his lips to my ear, nibbling gently on the diamond stud. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks, ripping the ribbon free of the last eyelets with a forceful tug and tossing it to the floor.

Gone is the anxious teenaged boy who once treated me with kid gloves; in his place stands a dirty talking, assertive lover. A man who’s blatantly aware of his own appeal.

“When I touch myself,” I admit with a nod, burning from the inside out, “and every time anyone else has touched me.”

Lyle spins me back around to face him. Our eyes lock, drawn together like twin flames. “Me too,” he says. “Fuck, Li’l Bit…you’re all I see. All I’ve ever seen.” On that note he grips the thin straps at my shoulders in either hand, sending the dress cascading to the floor where it settles in a puddle at my feet.

He brings a hand to his mouth and bites down on his bent knuckle while scouring over my near-nude body. “And my imagination was sorely lacking. You. Are. Exquisite.”

Clad in no more than a strapless lace bra and matching panties, I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do in this moment. My confidence soars to new heights, fueled by the hunger in his gaze.

Feeling bold, I reach to my back and flick the clasp to my bra, baring my breasts. My nipples harden instantly beneath his wide-eyed stare.

Thank you, pregnancy, for the free boob job.

“Sammi…” he rasps. “Can I…I need to…”

I’ve never seen him so flustered. It’s endearing and hot as hell.

“Touch me, Lyle.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “And for the record, you need not ask permission. If my standing here naked didn’t make it clear enough, please know…you have an open invitation.”

He lurches forward, cupping each of my tits in his hands. With a slowness that’s damn near excruciating, he rolls my pert nipples beneath the pads of his thumbs.