Paris had never before removed her clothing while a man watched.  Especially when the man watched her with that burning hunger in his eyes.  A hunger she recognized and understood because it burned through her, too.

She raised her chin and started on the buttons.  Her fingers fumbled and it took a moment to get used to them being on the wrong side.

Next she unbuttoned the cuffs, which she’d folded back because the sleeves were too long.  Then she tugged the shirt tails free, flicking them playfully in Brand’s direction.

She spun around and presented her back to him, legs planted apart as she shrugged her shoulders one at a time and felt the shirt begin a slow slide, inch by torturous inch.

He moved in flush behind her, his arms around her mid-section.  His chin brushed her shoulder, his hot breath in her ear.  “Very nice.”  His husky words feathered a shiver down her side to lodge deep in her belly.

His hands looked huge against her ribs, square and sun-browned, fingers ridged with calluses from riding or physical labor.

Those same callused palms cupped her breasts through the skimpy lace of her demi-bra.  She closed her eyes and leaned back into him.  Her nipples ached for his touch; a touch he seemed to deliberately withhold.  She could feel his erection harden against her bottom and regretted not stripping him of his jeans when she’d had the chance. 

She reached around behind her to cup his balls through the denim, then ran an insistent hand the length of his cock, feeling his instant reaction.

He responded by rolling his thumbs across her nipples.  She bit back a moan at the sweet flood of sensation.

He tucked a hand down the front of her pants and she widened her stance to grant him access, allow him to touch that part of her that begged and wept for his attention. 

Just when she thought he might actually bring about some much-needed release he pulled his hand free, and she bit down hard on her lip in frustration.

He spun her around.  “Take your pants off, Paris.” 

She could refuse him nothing.  Her eyes never left his as she undid the fastenings.  The trousers fell straight to the ground, where she kicked them toward him.  He caught them with one hand. 

“Nice.  Very nice.”  He tossed them aside and touched the front of her lace thong, then tucked his fingers inside the cup of her lacy bra.  Her lingerie was ecru, almost skin-tone, and from a distance it would be difficult to ascertain if she wore anything at all. 

He cupped her breasts so that they overflowed his touch and then palmed them, arousing the nipples to new pinpoints of pleasure and delight.

“Does that make you wet?”