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strangled whine escaped, and I redoubled my efforts to get him out of his coat. I went for the buttons on his shirt and was met with smooth cotton.
    Panting with need, I pulled away and glanced at his chest. “Wha—?”
    He was wearing a t-shirt. My gaze traveled down, taking in jeans and heavy boots. He looked just as hot in them as he had in the dress slacks and button up shirt he’d been wearing earlier. “Take off your coat.” My voice was raspy with renewed lust, temporary confusion forgotten.
    His coat fell in a heap on the floor, and I rushed him, sliding my hands under the hem of his shirt, greedy for skin. So hot . Hot and firm, and the lean muscles in his back flexed under my hands as I stroked up.
    His hands started doing battle with my sweatshirt, and a giggle worked its way free. “Not funny,” he muttered, finding the hem and dragging the sweatshirt up. Thank god the tank I was wearing underneath was cute. Red, with little pink hearts. Valentine’s appropriate.
    He skimmed his hands along my sides, lips curving in appreciation as his eyes locked on my chest. I’d always liked my breasts. From the look in his eyes, so did Alex.
    He reached out and drew me to him, his mouth connecting with my neck and working its way down to my collarbone. I shuddered as he rained tiny kisses over it, his tongue trailing damp heat over my shoulder to the strap of my tank top. Nudging it aside, he worked his way across to my other shoulder. I couldn’t feel my knees any longer. “Alex…”
    He lifted his head, desire bright in his eyes. “I want you over me,” I whispered. Needed him. Needed to see him braced above me, his weight pinning me down, his skin against mine, our hands and mouth everywhere.
    On a groan, he took my mouth again, lust a vicious beast clawing at my belly. Every part of me was straining and aching for him to continue. Skin tight, heart racing, I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t want to. I whimpered, and he jerked back, his eyes wild as he looked around the living room.
    He dragged me over to the fireplace, where I’d dropped the blanket I’d been using, and lowered me on top of it, following me down to settle between my legs. The groans we loosed were loud, long, and on the edge of embarrassing as our hips notched together. Even through several layers of clothing I felt the long, thick ridge of him, and I bucked my hips, crazy with need.
    He stroked a hand down my side and over my hip, palming my ass with one hand to bring us into closer contact. “I’ll take care of you, Hannah,” he murmured.
    His mouth was just as hot, as potent, as sweet, but some of the urgency had dissipated. He drew wet, lazy patterns on my exposed skin with his tongue, dipping under the top of my tank, gently tugging the straps aside to free my breasts.
    The feel of his lips sealing around my nipple had my hips rocking against his, clit throbbing and seeking friction. Seeking relief. He sucked, swirling his tongue around the hardening point, biting down when it became so swollen it pulsed. I arched my back, clutching at his head and babbling incoherently.
    His head came up, dark fire in his eyes, and he went to work on the other nipple.
    My panties were sticking to me, nerves on high alert and begging for release. My hands scrabbled over his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it this way and that. “Off. It needs to come off.” He sat back and yanked it over his head, and I pushed my tank down to my waist, reaching for him.
    He felt amazing against me. Like his skin would burn into mine, fuse us together. Mouths battling once more, his hand snuck up to plump my breast and thumb the nipple. I grabbed his hand and shoved it between my legs. That's where I wanted him. I was dying, inch by fiery inch.
    Growling, he skipped over the waistband of my pants and dipped under, fingers arrowing for my dripping, greedy sex. The first brush of his fingers made us both still. “Christ, sweetheart. You’re