As her Prada heel hit the carpet, she smirked, already impressed by his restraint. The man she'd known wouldn't have made it out of the kitchen before hiking her skirt up, and despite the burning need that she could see in him, he still had more restraint than he'd had before. Maybe prison had taught him that control, maybe maturity had... Either way, she was proud of him, for all he'd changed, for all he'd stayed so much the same man she loved.
The feel of his hands on her, the way they moved over her dress. Across her hips, her butt, her breasts. The feel of him finally touching her like this had her arching into his hands, wanting more. It was as if the fire that was burning so hot in him was burning her, passing though his fingertips to infect her own body. The sound of his voice, her name growled in her ear, was like gasoline on that fire, flaring up into an inferno as her gaze slid over his torso. So much changed, yet stayed the same... She could have feasted on the sight of his flesh for days, learning each new dip and swell of muscle.
Being as rebellious as she'd always been, there wasn't a scrap of fabric to be found under her dress. No panties, no bra, nothing. Had she known she'd find him at the bar, she might have put something pretty on for him to take off. But then, had she known she'd find him in the bar, she might not have warn anything at all. A devilish little smirk pulled her lips up just before he crushed them with his own. She returned his affections with equal need, and equal desperation to rekindle that bond they had shared all those years ago.
While his reasons for celibacy had been forced, hers had been personal. The chances of finding that connection again with another human were so very slim as to not be worth her time. It was more likely she would wind up unsatisfied and frustrated than not.
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