Forty-Two
Utmost Discretion
A kiss against the nape of my neck. Big hands on my bare shoulders, sending chills down my arms and across my chest covered only by a silk camisole, under my matching silk panties, down my freshly shaved legs still waiting for me to decide on today’s outfit.
“God, you smell good,” Finan murmurs against my ear.
“If you keep doing that …”
“What? This?” He nibbles my skin.
I brace myself on the open armoire door. “I need to get dressed.”
“Clothes are overrated.”
I lean into him—ironically already clothed for the day—before turning in his arms for a proper kiss. When his fingers brush under the silk, my hand on his chest pushes him back. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, my lady.” He kisses me again, his fingers roving under
