When he turns the pad back, I see _ _ _ _ _ _ _E E _ E and my wheels turn. Almost instantly, a possible answer pops into my head.
But surely not…
“Nacho cheese?” I ask, wrinkling my nose as he groans in defeat. “Are you serious?” I ask as he fills in the rest of the letters. “Nacho freaking cheese? You lick that off your lovers? What’s wrong with you?”
He laughs. “I’ve never licked it off of anyone, but you could lick it off someone. It’s drizzle-able.”
“First, that’s not a word. Second, nacho cheese would not only smell disgusting, but you also could burn someone.” I shake my head, shooting him my most judgmental look. “Are you sure you’re qualified to speak on this topic?”
“I didn’t want to make it too easy,” he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “If I’d put whipped cream on there, you would have had the answer in two seconds.”
I can’t resist smirking a little. “I had the answer in two seconds anyway.”
“Okay, Sassypants,” he says, thrusting the pad my way. “Your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“The nickname is Feistypants.” I flip the paper over to reveal a fresh sheet. “And from now on, all lickable items must be things you’d actually enjoy licking off your lover. No funny business.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning as he says, “Fine. Hit me with your best shot, woman.”
I do. And ten minutes later, Ian is down to his jeans. His sweatshirt, undershirt, and both socks are already on the floor and not a single correct letter has been guessed on my hangman board.
“Oh dear,” I say, tsking beneath my breath. “Looks like I’m about to find out whether you wear boxers or briefs.”
“Assuming I wear underwear,” he says, glancing back at the paper. “But you’re going to have to wait to find out. I’m about to make a comeback. Y.”
I shoot him a faux pitying expression and coo, “So sorry, but there is no Y. Time to take off those jeans, mister.”
“There has to be a Y,” he says. “If you chose a word in a foreign language, you forfeit your win. You know the rules. Words have to be in English and recognized by Merriam-Webster.”
I hum low in my throat. “Wow, you didn’t use to be such a sore loser. Does this mean I should assume you aren’t wearing boxers and are afraid to pull a Full Monty so early in the competition?”
“I fear nothing,” he says, making me snort-laugh. He jumps to his feet, striking a superhero pose before reaching for the top button on his jeans, making me giggle as he opens the flap of his zipper just far enough to reveal the top of a pair of dark red underwear of some sort.
But then he pauses, his eyes locking with mine as he says in a softer voice, “You really want me to take these off?”
I nod, my smile fading. “Yes. I do.”
“Tell me the word first.”
I shake my head, gaze still locked on his. “No. I’m in it to win it. And I don’t win until you’re wearing nothing but your birthday suit.”
“I forfeit,” he says, adding in a husky voice that is maybe the most butterfly-inducing thing I’ve ever heard, “And I think we’re both going to win tonight.”
“Yeah?” My cheeks warm and the rest of me begins to tingle in that increasingly familiar way only Ian seems to inspire.
“Yeah. I just…have a feeling.”
“I have that same feeling,” I say, “but I’m going to need you to take off those jeans before I reveal my hangman secrets.”
His lips hook up on one side. “As the lady wishes.”
“Thank you,” I say, my tongue slipping out to dampen my lips. He really is mouthwatering, looking so damned good in jeans and nothing else that it’s hard to imagine him getting any hotter.
But then he shoves the denim down around his ankles, moving closer as he steps out of the puddle of fabric, exposing the very firm, very thick, very long ridge beneath his boxer briefs.
My breath catches and my lips part. “Well, then,” I say, fighting the urge to squirm as my nipples tighten until they begin to sting with the need to be touched. I finally drag my eyes from his arousal up to his face, awareness zipping through me again as his heated gaze locks with mine. “Is that for me? Or do you just really like losing at hangman?”
“I don’t like losing at anything. Now, tell me the word.”
“Molasses,” I say, dry panties a thing of the past as he puts his hands on my shoulders, urging me to lean back into the couch cushions.
He straddles my hips, arousing my body and my curiosity, as he says, “That’s a diabolical selection.”
“I know. I’m very diabolical,” I say, distracted by his fingers teasing into my hair. “Are you giving me a lap dance?”
He grins. “No. I just felt like I wanted to straddle your smug little body and trap you on my couch, so I did. Is that all right?”
“Very all right.” I trail my fingers over his pecs and down the ridges of his abs. “I feel like I want to lick you right here, in between every tight muscle. Is that okay?”
“That’s not only okay,” he says, his voice deepening as I continue to explore him with my fingers, “it’s our practice for today.”
I glance up, feeling weirdly powerful in my current position, even though he’s huge and hovering over me and I couldn’t get up if I tried. “What’s that?”
“Following your sex muse,” he says, “and making sure what you like is cool with your partner.”
I bite my lip. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been in touch with my sex muse. Usually, I’m so busy worrying about whether I’m doing it ‘right’ I’m all in my head about…” I trail off, distracted by his fingers wrapping around my wrists. “What’s this?”
“This is me pinning your arms and kissing your neck.” He shifts until his knees are on the floor, which—thanks to the height difference—brings his lips even with my shoulder. “One second.”
He releases my wrists to grip the backs of my thighs. He jerks my hips a few inches closer to the edge of the cushion, sending a lightning bolt of arousal surging through me at the assured way he handles my body.
“There we go,” he murmurs, recapturing my wrists and pressing them into the cushions above my head as he bends to kiss my neck, which is now in the perfect position.
I draw in a shuddery breath. “My sex muse likes it when you jerk me around a little. Like that with the… With the… That body part I can’t remember the name of because you’re very good at kissing.”
“Your hips?” His lips curve against my throat, where my pulse is throbbing faster.
“Yes, those.” My lids flutter closed as his mouth settles over mine, kissing me slowly, almost carefully, making it clear he’s in no rush.
“You taste so good,” he whispers in between kisses. “Your skin, your lips.”
“You, too,” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist as he presses closer, intensifying the kiss until my head is spinning. “But I want to feel you. More of you. Without…fabric in the way.”