“I don’t want to be untidy for you,” she whispered, tilting her hips attempting to fit herself to him. Then his bewildered smirk became a wicked grin against her lips. His hand went to the scarf in her hair, uniting it and letting it drift to the floor before he dug his fingers between the locks at her nape. “Miss Taylor,” he said, lifting the hem of her dress with his other hand. “You’re going to be very untidy… for me,” he whispered against her neck. Her lips parted as his hand fisted in her hair. “Filthy.”
