He half chuckled against her mouth and then kissed her hard once more. His big hand cupped her breast, and then he began to stroke back and forth with his thumb, caressing her nipple through the layers of her clothing.

And, oh, that was so unfair. So good, too. She moaned, rocking against his leg once more, and when he shifted his weight, his other hand locking around her back, she didn’t protest. A few more kisses and maneuvering of their bodies, and then she was under him on the couch, her dress hiked up at her hips, her legs cradling him.

“Just gonna kiss you,” he promised between strokes of his tongue. His hand was still on her breast, teasing her aching nipple into a rock-hard point. “Nothing more. I promise.”

“Just kissing,” she agreed, and tugged his shirt free from his belt. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over those granite-like muscles. “Just kissing. Just . . . oooh.” Her hands slipped under his shirt, under his undershirt, and then she touched nothing but warm, hard flesh. He felt amazing. Like a sculpture come to life. Before she’d met Hank, she’d always said she liked a dad bod—a guy with a little softness in his gut.

Nope. Apparently now she had a thing for washboard abs.

“Love these pretty tits,” he rasped against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. “Can’t stop thinking about them.”

She loved hearing that. Loved knowing that he was thinking about her, obsessing over her. He’d turned her down flat when she’d asked him out. Had he been regretting it this whole time? Moaning, Becca scratched her nails along his sides and loved the ragged noise he made when she did. God, she bet quarters would bounce off his ass. She suddenly wanted to see that.

His hand left her breast and she whimpered a protest.

“No,” she told him, digging her nails into his skin. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

Her words died on a moan as his hand slid back under her skirt again, and he found her panties. His hand pushed between her thighs, and she was soaked. He said something sexy, something deep and growly between kisses, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her focus was entirely on the hand between her legs, the thumb rubbing up and down her folds. Oh god, she’d worn the ugliest panties tonight. Why had she been so stupid? “You can’t laugh at my panties,” she told him between frenzied kisses. “No laughing.”

“Panties . . . staying . . . on,” he promised her, then claimed her mouth again.