The kiss deepened, and I felt Vivienne's magic flare around us – not defensive this time, reactive, responding to desire rather than threat. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers working at my shirt buttons with practiced efficiency.
"You're wearing too many clothes," she breathed against my lips.
"So are you."
She pulled back just enough to stand, and I watched as she reached behind herself to unzip her dress. The burgundy fabric slid down her body in a whisper of silk, pooling at her feet.
And fuck.
The dress had hidden curves that made my mouth go dry. She wore black lace underneath – a bra that struggled to contain full, heavy breasts, the kind that would overflow my hands. Her waist curved in before flaring to wide hips that begged to be gripped. Thick thighs that I wanted wrapped around my head. Every inch of her was soft, feminine, powerful.
