Page 37 of Melting for the Firefighter
His hands remain on my hips.
“Last chance to send me to the couch.”
His voice is rough, but his grip is gentle.
“Do you want to go?”
“Hell no.”
“Then stay.”
Something fierce and almost relieved passes through his eyes.
He kisses me again.
His fingers find the buttons of my dress. He opens the first one, exposing the hollow of my throat.
Then he stops.
“You do this.”
I blink up at him.
His thumb moves once over my waist.
“I need to know you want every step.”
My heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.
No one has ever asked what I wanted and waited for the answer.
I unfasten the next button.
Then another.
Lance watches my hands.
His chest rises beneath his shirt. His jaw is tight, and the intensity in his eyes makes me feel beautiful before he has seen anything.
The dress loosens.
I slide it from my shoulders.
The fabric falls around my ankles, leaving me in a pale blue bra and matching cotton panties.
Every cruel word my ex ever said rushes back.
Too soft.
Too wide.
Too much.
The laughter that followed.
The way I learned to fold my arms across my stomach before anyone had the chance to look too closely.
My hands begin to move.
