Inch by inch, the zipper revealed ivory skin, lit by moonlight and the midnight beads of her dress. She shivered as the silk and glass fell away, exposing her to the warmth of the evening and the touch of my hands. I wanted to kiss her everywhere, to taste every inch, but I started with the nape of her neck as the fabric fell to the blanket at our feet.
She wore nothing but a slip of lace and satin beneath the dress. If I’d known that’s what she considered underwear, I’d have had her carted away from the stupid dance before it even began. My fingers itched to slip them from her hips, but she turned before I could.
Without breaking eye contact, she began working the buttons of my shirt. Her tongue peeked between her lips as she struggled with the second, her fingers too shaky to get a good grip. When I moved to help, she shook her head and clenched her hands into fists.
“Let me,” she whispered. “I really want to do this.”