With someone else, that moment while he considered her request might have turned into a contest of wills: her gaze hardening into a demand, his flattening in stubbornness. For whatever reason, between them, the moment remained quiet and open. He could have denied her without raising her ire, and she simply waited willing to let it be entirely his choice.

So when he made the decision, did as she'd asked without comment, fuss, or unnecessary seduction, it sent a frisson of pleasure up her spine. It meant, too, that she could appreciate the view unabashedly, and she made no bones about doing so.

While her gaze slid down his chest and his abdomen, her tongue touched her top lip. She wet her bottom lip and caught it between her teeth while her lust-darkened gaze dipped into the opened V of his jeans to caress that soft, intimate skin. Her coal-black eyes smoldered when she lingered on the shadow of his pubic hair curling at the top of the zipper.

So intent on that small patch of skin, she was completely unaware of the way her hands rubbed against the outside of her thighs, palms against them on the way down, and fingers pressed in on the long, slow drag back up.