Page 60 of Your Rule to Break
“It’s stuck, I think if I pull the fabric, you can unzip it—but remember I want to buy this. Don’t ruin it with your man hands.”
He turns, facing my hip with the zipper, and spreads his legs before putting his hands on the inside of the fabric, his fingers touching my ribcage. His other hand goes to the zipper, and my hands pull the fabric together—a bit awkward, but I think it will work.
Zack looks at me. “Are you ready?”
His voice pricks my skin. It’s delicious and a tiny bit uncomfortable. I want more. More of his eyes on me, his voice like this, his fingers on my skin.
Why do I feel like we’re not talking about zippers anymore?
Chapter 31
Zack
It’s not lost onme that I’m practically touching Emilie’s tits as we try to unzip this dress. The one that short circuited my brain. The purplish-blue color, light and like it was made for her skin, and the plunging front where I was begging to see more of her.
In my dreams, it will keep going and going, until it’s her, bare for me.
Fucking hell.
“Ready,” she confirms.
Emilie bunches the fabric, and I pull the zipper down and toward me.
“I don’t have man hands. These are hands of a champion,” I say, still focused on the zipper, moving like a knife through butter.
Just when I think we’re in the clear, the zipper snags one more time.
“Hands of a champion, huh?” Her eyes lock on mine, her voice teasing on the edges of her words.
I take my fingers that are not on the zipper and hook them to the inside of the fabric, needing more leverage. What I didn’t consider is the spark from touching her somewhere new. Closer to her waist than her ribs this time.
It’s also not helping that she’s not wearing a bra, which I realize as the fabric no longer held together by the faulty zipper gapes open at the top.
My dick is painfully aware of how much she’s not wearing a bra, and if I just pulled the fabric back a touch more, I’d see what I’ve been dreaming of.
Working together, I’m able to get the zipper past whatever it was caught on. I stand there, my hand still touching her, afraid to breathe, to change the moment. When Emilie doesn’t move or say anything, I take a chance and follow our new rule.
The new rule is doing what feels right.
I take the hand that’s on her side, below her ribs, and slowly draw it up her body, feeling her reaction underneath me. I can’t tell if she’s actually leaning into the touch or if I’m imagining the best-case scenario—her wanting this as much as I do.
“What feels right for you?” she asks, like she’s part reading my mind and part taunting me.
“You. All of you. All the time.” My fingers that crawled up her ribs are going back down.
“Well, we don’t want to break the rules, do we?” She catches my eyes in the mirror, and she offers this devilish grin that’s so fucking sexy. She’s tempting me. It’s a dare, one I’m happy to take her up on.
I step behind her, keeping her back to my front, and her eyes flash as the tip of my erection touches her ass.
“I must feel good,” she says, almost laughing, leaning back into me for real this time, not questioning it at all. This lean is everything. Every stolen glance. Every piece of tension.
Her hands stay at her sides, and the strap on the zipper side is almost falling off her shoulder. In the mirror, I see her glance at the strap and back to me.
I hook a finger under each of the straps and look at her one more time before doing what I think she wants. When she nods, giving me the green light, I slowly pull the straps down.
The fabric falls away from her skin, and my eyes trail the small of her back until a black lacy thong shows. I stop for a second, but Emilie pushes my hands down until the dress falls to the floor.
My hands touch the side of her hips and then up her sides, pausing at her ribs. Her heartbeat is quick under my touch, which damn near matches mine. I peel my eyes from her ass and watch her in the mirror. In just a pair of panties, she reaches an arm up around and hooks it around my neck, scratching the nape.