“I think two minutes might be overestimating your skills with a corset.” I glance down at my armor. He grins and lifts me from his lap. My feet hit the floor. “I’m timing you.” “Is that—” “One. Two.” I hold up my fingers. “Three.” He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and then his mouth is on mine, and I stop counting. I’m too busy chasing the strokes of his tongue, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath my fingertips, to give a shit where my clothes are going.
