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The scrape of his beard against my breast and the heat of his tongue make a moan tear out of me before I can swallow it.

Bitter groans against my skin. “There. That fucking sound.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too fucking late.”

His mouth moves to the other breast while his hand slides down my stomach. He toys with the button of my shorts, kisses lower, then stops.

I’m breathing too hard when I look down at him. “What?”

“You want them off?”

“You really are going to make me say everything.”

“Not everything.” He kisses my stomach just below my navel. “Some things I can figure out.”

“Then figure this out.”

I lift my hips.

His smile is wicked. “Good girl.”

That should irritate me.

It does not.

He unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down slowly, deliberately, dragging the fabric over my thighs while his mouth follows the path it leaves. He kisses one knee, then the inside of my thigh.

My underwear stays on. I realize that was intentional when he reaches my ankles and looks up at me.

Pink shoes still on. Nothing else from the waist down except a scrap of cotton.

I stare at him. “You left my shoes on.”

His gaze drags over me. “Like ’em.”

“You mocked them yesterday.”

“I mock lots of shit I like.”

That is so completely Bitter I start laughing. Then he puts one hand under my knee, lifts my leg, and kisses the inside of my calf above the ridiculous pink flat.

The laugh dies.

There is something obscenely hot about being mostly naked while he is still in jeans, boots, and his Grave Prowlers cut. He looks like a biker. I look like what the biker dragged upstairs.

Except he has asked for every inch.

That difference makes heat crawl under my skin.

His mouth works slowly up my leg. Calf. Knee. Inner thigh. The closer he gets to my pussy, the less amusing anything becomes.

I grab the blanket.

Bitter stops just short of where I need him. “You’re shaking.”

“You’re taking forever.”