The Naked Detective by Vivi Andrews

grasped two fistfuls of his shirt and yanked, untucking it from his pants and drawing it up so she could slide her hands along the warm, muscular expanse of his lower back.
    Nate levered himself up and pulled the shirt off over his head with one swift tug, falling back into the kiss without missing a beat. You had to respect a man with that kind of focus.
    Ciara ran her hands up the plane of his back. Each touch was a revelation. His skin burned warm against her fingers, sending waves of heat shooting from her fingertips to her toes. But she wanted more than just to touch him. She wanted him touching her.
    Reading her mind, Nate slipped his hands beneath the hem of her dress. He guided the skirt up, his hands skating along the outside of her thighs, over her hips and against the curve of her waist. She reveled in the newness of the touch, but even more in the fact that it was Nate touching her, Nate kissing his way down the line of her throat and the low neckline of her dress.
    “More, Nate. I need more.” She kicked off her Ferragamos and hooked one leg over his hip, rocking her pelvis to rub against his erection.
    “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled against her breast.
    Ciara rolled her head against the soft mattress. She may not ever have a fifty-carat ruby necklace, but she felt like Grace Kelly in this moment. Nate was her blond Cary Grant, smooth and sexy and giving her banter right along with passion. What more could she ask for?
    Except for him to get on with it already.
    She snuck her hands between them to slowly work down the zipper on his pants.
    “Lift your arms,” Nate demanded.
    Ciara didn’t want to give up on her noble goal of getting the Fed out of his pants, but the command in his voice sent a tingle down her spine so she obeyed. As soon as her arms were above her head, Nate whipped her dress off. She wasn’t wearing a bra and his eyes locked on her breasts, his hands quickly following his gaze.
    She wasn’t big. With her frame, she would have fallen over if she was stacked like a Baywatch babe, but Nate didn’t seem to mind her all-too-proportional curves. He cupped her breasts, raising them to his mouth. The touch felt exquisite, but it wasn’t enough.
    She tilted her hips up against his again, rubbing his erection. “Come on, Nate. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”
    He groaned. “I thought women wanted the nice guy.”
    “Nuh-uh. Bad boys all the way. Be bad, Nate.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He stripped off his pants and her panties and slipped on a condom at light speed, falling back onto her, finally nothing but skin against skin. Ciara closed her eyes as the “Ode to Joy” exploded inside her head, a symphonic eruption of bliss. Nate settled himself between her legs, notching his erection to her entrance.
    This is it.
    She caught his mouth in a kiss and clutched his shoulders, holding on too tightly. She felt some discomfort as he started working himself inside her, but it didn’t merit tears or hysterics. What was the big deal? The latex of the condom felt more foreign than anything, an oddly clinical static friction.
    Nate froze, pushing up on his forearms and breaking the kiss. He must have noticed the way she’d stiffened up. Ciara could have kicked herself for not playing it cool.
    “Are you—?”
    “Don’t say it. I hate the V word.” She wasn’t a virgin . She was just a girl who’d never had sex. There was a difference. She frowned up at him. “Was I required to tell you or something?”
    “No, I should have… It makes sense.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m good. Can we get on with it?”
    Nate gave a startled laugh. “Always the romantic. C’mere.” He caught her mouth and drew her into a drugging kiss. Her body quickly adjusted to his presence…in fact, it started to feel pretty damn good. By the time he began flexing his hips, withdrawing and pressing back again, she was squirming beneath him, chasing the heat of his