I step between her legs and plant my hands on either side of her. She tips the bottle neck in my direction.
“You want to try it?”
“Oh, I want to try it, all right.”
I move my hands to the edge of her shirt and then up sides of her body over the slippery fabric. Her back arches, chest thrusting toward me. I pop the top button open.
“By all means, keep drinking,” I order. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
She takes another sip as I work my way down the buttons. Our fight for self-control is palpable, every movement tense with restraint, breaths hitching at the flex of muscles. When I’ve got the shirt undone, I stare down at the few inches of her exposed chest and stomach. Her skin is pale and creamy, just a few shades lighter than the plain peach fabric of her bra, and if the sight of that cleavage actually killed me the way it feels like it’s about to, I would die a happy man.
As slowly as I can manage, I push the shirt off her shoulders and slide it down her arms.
“Sorry.” I manage to yank my eyes away from her chest at the tentative sound of her voice. She worries her lip with her teeth and stares down at the floor. “I didn’t know we would be, uh...Like, my bra isn’t very nice, and I’m—”
“Perfect,” I interrupt. “You are so. Fucking. Perfect. I...I don’t even...” My over-stimulated eyes slip to her chest again. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Will you kiss me again?”
I make myself look at her, really look at her this time. I see the hesitation there, the self-doubt, and I want to kiss it all away. I never want her to feel it again. I cup her cheek with my hand and tilt her head back, teasing her lips with the ghost of mine until the insecurity in her eyes is replaced with desire.
“I’ll kiss you for as long as you let me.”
I work her mouth for a few long, hungry moments before I start to trail kisses down her neck and along her bare shoulder, sliding her bra strap out of the way as I go. Her hands press into my back, and mine trace the edge of her jeans, thumbs dipping beneath it every so often to make her hiss.
I take my time and make sure she’s ready for it before I start to undo the clasp of her bra. I shift back so she can pull it off herself, and then all hope is lost.
The string of French curses hasn’t even finished leaving my mouth before I have her back flat on the marble of the island as I lean forward and try to explore every fucking inch of those tits with my mouth. She’s exquisite, soft and flushed in all the right places. She makes little mewling sounds as she claws at my back.
I brace my forearms on the island and lift my head. “We need to slow down.”
“Slow down?” she repeats, like I’m speaking another language again.
“As much as I want to fuck you right here and now, I’m going to regret not taking my time.” I dip my head down and flick one of her nipples with my tongue. “I’m going to regret not savouring this.”
Which gives me an idea.
“While I did appreciate your assessment of my Merlot,” I begin, watching the skin beneath me prickle with goose bumps as she picks up on the teasing threat in my tone, “I think I’d like to make one of my own.”
I reach for the bottle, and her eyes go wide with shock as I begin to tip it over her chest.
“Julien, you’re not actually going to—”
The rest of her sentence gets lost on an exhilarated laugh as I let a few drops of the crimson liquid splash between her breasts. I trail my finger along the path of the wine before bringing it up to my mouth.
“Well?” Monroe asks, lifting her head slightly to look at me. “Are you about to give me a wine lesson?”
“I think I’ll need to taste more.”
Her smirk mirrors my own as she settles back down on the island.
I let a stream of wine trickle onto her chest, ducking my head down to lap it up with a few long, slow strokes of my tongue before it can spill over the sides of her body. She curses under her breath, hands scrabbling along the marble in search of something to hold onto.
“You were wrong about the florals.”
“Was I?” She sounds more than a little distracted, and it gets me more than a little turned on.
“This wine—”
