I was standing in front of my mirror, applying mascara, when a pair of searing, calloused hands slipped around my waist.
I lifted my gaze, expression unchanging, and locked eyes with my brooding, dark-haired boyfriend. Although Jameson had taken a stance behind me, I immediately noticed that his suit coat was lacking an undershirt.
I twisted, makeup forgotten, and parted his suit coat. "Where's your shirt?"
"It seemed redundant," he murmured, loosely resting both arms around my waist. "If you're just going to take it off later, what's the point of wearing it now?"
"Formality, Jameson." My eyebrows arched. "We're going to the opera, not the bar."
"I'd prefer the latter."
"Maybe another time," I said, fighting a smile.
"I'll hold you to it." Smiling deviously, he leaned into me. Jameson's voice was suddenly low and husky as it reached my ear. "You know what else I'd like to hold you to?"
My skin flamed. "A wall?"
"Preferably, yes." Smirking, he pressed his hips to mine and began walking me backward. "But a mirror will do."
When my back reached the smooth glass, I let Jameson kiss away every complaint on my lips. Including the one concerning his lack of a shirt. While we kissed, I decided that he could button his suit coat and forgo a collared shirt.
"Jameson," I said after a few kisses.
"Let me guess," he murmured. "We're going to be late."
"If you keep kissing me like that, yes."
"I suppose I should keep at it then." His kisses moved to my neck and I sighed.
I kissed the first fifteen minutes of the opera goodbye and gave Jameson complete custody of my lips, body, and soul.
I was completely, utterly his.
