He decided, right then and there, to do just that—especially once Sophie took her time unzipping her little black ankle boots and tossing them to the floor.

“I hope you aren’t too attached to these panties,” he warned.

“Well, actually, I—”

The rest of her sentence was lost in her squeal of delight as he pulled her forward using both his hands and his teeth—his hands cupping the sweet curves of her ass, his teeth caught on the upper band of the lace panties.

Then he tugged. Hard.

The sound of his teeth ripping through delicate fabric was oddly satisfying, especially when it was followed by Sophie’s low moan. Her hands dropped to his head, those perfect fingernails scraping against his scalp as she threaded her fingers through the strands. A tingling sensation worked down his spine, not stopping until the rest of his body quivered alongside it.

“This is Chantilly lace, I’ll have you know,” she said as he managed a particularly good tear. One more tug, and he’d have reached the gusset—not to mention the hot apex of her thighs. “From La Perla.”

“I don’t know what any of those words mean, and I sure as hell don’t care right now.”

Sophie laughed and tightened her hold on his hair. “You silver-tongued devil, you.”

He tugged one last time. “You have no idea.”

He made quick work of the tattered remnants of her panties, sliding them down her naked thighs and tossing them to the ground below. Sophie was a glory to behold from any angle, but there was something about this one that set him over the edge. Her legs were long and impossibly smooth. They met in a perfect V of dark curls, already damp with desire, which was where he focused his attention now.

His tongue might not be silver tipped when it came to talking about his feelings, but he didn’t need it to be. Not when he was about to taste her.

Running his hands up either side of her right leg, he began his siege there. A soft kiss on the skin above her knee elicited a gasp—a sound that intensified as he worked his way up, pressing tongue and teeth against the suppleness of her upper thigh. She showed a tendency to wriggle, a thing he had to combat by holding her more firmly in place and parting her legs to give himself better access.

“Cold,” she said with a gasp as he opened her legs and held her there, blowing a long, slow breath against her damp heat. “I can feel everything when you do that.”

Yes. She needed to feel everything—not just in a physical sense, but in every other possible meaning of the word. Feel me on my knees before you. Feel me tasting every part of you. Feel me begging you to extend this moment into infinity.