Page 27

"I'm going to—" I can't finish the sentence.

"Good. Let me feel it."

His tongue does something absolutely wicked and I come apart, clenching around his fingers, saying his name loud enough that I'd be embarrassed if I could think straight.

He doesn't stop immediately, just gentles his touch, drawing it out until I'm shaking and oversensitive and have to push his head away.

He pulls back, his beard damp, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Okay?"

I can't form words yet. I just nod, boneless and panting.

He climbs up the bed and lies beside me, and I turn my head to look at him. He's still fully dressed, and that suddenly seems very unfair.

"Your turn," I say when I can talk again.

"My turn for what?"

"To get naked."

He grins and sits up, unbuttoning his shirt. I watch as he shrugs it off, revealing the white t-shirt underneath that he pulls over his head next.

And then I'm staring at his bare chest like an idiot.

He's exactly what I expected and somehow more. Broad and solid, with scars that map out a history I only partially know. The tattoo on his right arm is even more detailed up close, the flag and soldier rendered in sharp black ink, coordinates beneath.

"You're staring," he says, and there's amusement in his voice.

"You're really built."

He laughs. "You mentioned that."

"I'm going to keep mentioning it." I reach out and run my hand over his chest, feeling the hard muscle, the warmth of his skin. "Seriously, how are you real?"

"Just lucky genetics and a lot of time in the gym." He stands up and reaches for his belt. "You want me to take the rest off, or are you going to keep cataloging my muscles?"

"Both. Definitely both."

He shakes his head, still smiling, and unbuckles his belt. The sound of it makes something in my stomach tighten.

He unzips his jeans and pushes them down along with his boxer briefs, and then he's standing there completely naked in my bedroom in the afternoon light.

And I forget how to breathe.

He's big everywhere. I noticed it last night in the dark, but in daylight it's more obvious. His cock is already hard, thick and long, and for a second I'm genuinely not sure how this is going to work.

"You're staring again," he says.

"You're worth staring at."

He climbs back onto the bed, and suddenly all that naked skin is right there. I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, and he makes a rough sound.

"Fuck, Lyla."

I stroke him once, experimentally, and his hips jerk. He's hot and smooth and hard, and I'm fascinated by the way he responds to my touch.

"Can I..." I trail off, suddenly shy.

"Can you what?"