Page 73 of Not You Again

I open the scissors and move them downward. Another slice of fabric comes as she’s halfway down my shirt.

Our breathing is the only other sound in the world. I’m mesmerized by this moment. It’s like seeing one of my blueprints rise from the ground, in three dimensions. Everything is precarious and I question every equation and line until suddenly it’s done. A testament to a leap of faith and an appreciation of art.

The scissors’ blades glint in the moonlight as I keep working my way down the bodice, inch by glorious inch. Andie’s fingers curl around my open plackets, and in one breathless look, she asks a silent question.

She knows how careful I am with my clothing, how little of it I have. She’s asking for my consent to break me free. To remove my armor, just like I’m removing hers.

I let out a low noise of approval.

She rips my shirt open. My buttons join the beads on the floor, and I know I’ll never find them. I don’t care. I’ll buy another shirt. I’ll ask her to embroider her name on the tag, Property Of.

Her hands explore my bare chest, nails scraping my skin and threading through the hair there. I’m so hard, my vision blurs around the edges. I don’t trust myself with sharp objects at the moment, so I toss the scissors on the floor. They sound like gunfire, scattering beads and buttons on impact. Andie doesn’t flinch.

I trace the deep V I’ve cut into her neckline, her skin hot and smooth under my touch. I need to see more of it. Mimicking her motions, I grip the loose edges of the bodice in my fists and meet her eyes.

“Do it,” she whispers in the dark.

I gather every last reserve of control I have and tear her dress wide open. She gasps and licks her lips.

I let the fabric fall from my hands. It sags for a moment before the weight of the bodice slips over her hips, the skirt billowing out as her dress falls to the floor. Some beads roll across the floorboards, caught in the dress’s downfall.

Andie’s not wearing a bra. Jesus. She’s only in a lace thong, her dress around her ankles.

This. This is definitely the sexiest thing I will ever be lucky enough to lay eyes on in my lifetime.

And I’m still wearing pants.

What the hell am I doing?

I roll my ruined shirt off my shoulders. “If you think my thighs are great, you should see you right now.”

Andie’s fingers fly to my belt. “Shut up.” She’s got my pants on the floor in record time, and I wrap both my arms around her, skin on skin, crushing her to me with a hot kiss and a groan.

Her hands are everywhere, her nails sinking into the muscles in my back with a delicious bite. More.

Crazed, I lower us both to the floor, spreading her dress over the mess of beads on the floor, too impatient to make it to the bed upstairs.

She trembles as my hands slide to her thighs, tugging that lace thong down, down, and away. I push her legs open. Wider. Wider still.

I lower myself to the ground in front of her. The seams of her dress bite into my stomach as I settle in, licking my lips. “Hold on tight.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONEANDIE

The boning on my dress underneath me digs into my elbows as I prop myself up to watch Kit work, the muscles in his shoulders rolling in the moonlight.

His eyes glitter with something magical, like just the sight of me bare before him has him transported to another plain of existence.

I want this delicious tension to swell until it shatters, leaving us both completely wrecked in its wake. Kit’s thumbs brush the insides of my thighs, and all the air leaves my lungs in one trembling sigh. It morphs into a frustrated curse as he does it again, closer to where I want him.

Where I need him.

I’ve been avoiding the thought that I need him anywhere, for any reason. But that’s a lie. It’s always been a lie. Right now, my insides ache with a gaping chasm of emptiness. It’s been empty for so fucking long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be filled up.

Kit swipes his tongue over my center, his breath skimming over my skin. My hips buck off the floor, reaching for him after he’s pulled away. Before I can force myself to relax, to hide my desperation, his thumb is on my clit, and I see stars.

My head falls back as a groan claws out of my chest, and I know Kit can see it. How afraid I am, how small I feel, how empty I’ve been these past years without him. And he’s split me wide open, just like he ripped my bodice with his bare hands. There’s no hiding from him. There never has been.

“You taste exactly the same.” His voice drapes over my skin like mulberry silk. Pure luxury. “I never stopped being hungry for it.”