God, I love that he’s a man who whispers filthy words in my ear yet blushes when I watch him undress, that there’s a side of him that I see that no one else does—the wild side of someone the world only knows as serious and staid.

He stares at me, eyes roaming my naked body hungrily. His erection is massive, straining the fabric of his boxer briefs.

Launching myself off the bed because I can’t go a second longer not touching him, I set my hands on him, travel the ridges and valleys of his body, all this bare, glowing skin. I press a kiss to the tattoo above his heart. Then, slowly, I slide my hands across his back and then down, beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, over the hard curve of his backside. He breathes shakily as my hands cup him firmly, sweeping lower, where those tight, round muscles meet his thighs.

“Bea,” he says, kissing me suddenly. Urgently. Tongue, teeth. Hot and feverish. “Don’t tease me. Not now.”

“Tease? Me?” I smile against his kiss, then step back enough to hook my fingers tight around the waistband. Gently, I lift them around his cock, watching it spring free as I kneel and drag the fabric to his ankles. Jamie steps out of them quickly, his hard length bobbing as he moves. It’s thick and long and wet at the tip. I press a kiss there and sigh as I taste him, salty and warm.

“Shit,” he groans.

I tsk. “Language, James.”

He stares down at me, tension painting his face as I carefully fold his boxers and joggers, which are pooled on the floor. “Beatrice,” he says tightly.

“Yes, dear.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

I widen my eyes innocently. “Keeping things tidy. Speaking your love language.”

“I don’t care how my clothes look right now, Bea, and my love language is physical touch.”

Setting aside the clothes, I slide my hands up his legs and enjoy the soft golden hairs underneath my palms as I press kisses up his thighs. Finally, I wrap my hands around his beautiful erection and slide it appreciatively through my grip. He hisses between his teeth as his head drops back.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Yes. No. I’m embarrassingly close.”

“Is that so bad?”

He answers me by hoisting me up and tossing me onto the bed. I squeal with delight.

His hand skates up my calf, then my thigh as he kisses me, as he watches my body arch under his touch, begging for more. “I could look at you forever,” he says roughly. “Learn what all of these little markings mean. Taste their path on your skin.”

A hum of pleasure leaves me. “Please.”