The red silk slid down her shoulders, pooling around her waist like spilled wine. In the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the tinted glass, she looked like a masterpiece—one that was finally, irrevocably, mine.
She reached for my belt with a desperate, frantic energy, her fingers fumbling against the leather as she tried to free me.
"Wait," I whispered, catching her wrists and gently pinning them. "I want to see you first. All of you."
I let my eyes roam over her. Without the armor of her black gear or the distraction of the dress, Abigail was a revelation. Her skin was like polished alabaster, pale and flawless, mapped with the faint, silver lines of old scars that only made her look more like a goddess of war.
Her breasts were firm and high-pointed, tipped with deep rose nipples that were already tight and aching in the cool air of the car.
