He stretched his length next to her and looked down at her like she held the answer to every question he’d ever had or would have. “It’s like I’ve wanted you forever,” he whispered, and took her mouth, his lips demanding something she couldn’t name but desperately wanted to give.

Those dexterous hands set to work, loosing each tiny, silk-covered button until the fabric simply slipped apart, revealing her to him. She felt more than heard his ragged intake of breath—felt it in the clench of her cunny and the tightening of her breasts. For a moment he simply looked at her, long enough to make a flicker of nerves spark, but finally, almost reverently, he touched her.

At first he used only the tips of his fingers, like he was mapping the curves of her body. Slow, agonizing waves of pleasure rolled through her, leaving only his touch and the sound of the fire next to her. He lingered on the undersides of her breasts, seemingly fascinated by the swell of them, before drawing slow, ever narrowing circles around her peaks. Finally, he took one nipple between thumb and forefinger, and, ever so gently, squeezed.

She came up off the floor.

“Yes,” he murmured, and then he was everywhere, his hands caressing her, pinching there, until she was barely able to remember to muffle her own cries. She bucked next to him, wanting him closer, wanting more, more, more.

Her nipples were flushed and hard under his attention; she barely recognized them as her own. They looked … wanton. He put his lips to them, sucking each one into his mouth until they were glistening, swollen buds.

One hand drifted downwards, continuing to loose the long line of buttons. Slowly his lips followed, while the other hand moved here and there, wherever he pleased, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching her. She was gradually melting into a state of hazy, delicious, squirming excitement.

When he reached the buttons that would bare her to him completely, he paused, focusing totally on the unbuttoning. Watching him study her—feeling his excitement—was so shockingly arousing she almost forgot what he was revealing.

That is, until he pressed his hand against her.

She cried out, a jagged exhalation that sounded alien to her ears.

“Yes,” he said, watching her face with the pure, passionate concentration she associated solely with him. He pressed a little harder and she moaned again.

Just when she thought the feeling could be no more intense, his fingers moved.

“Holy god,” she blurted, and the damn man had the audacity to chuckle.

“You, my love, are beautifully, beautifully sensitive,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to say something tart and dignity saving he moved his fingers again and proved his point.

“Let’s talk about this nightgown,” he said.