Page 57 of Tyson
I nodded, biting back more words.
"On the bed," he commanded, stepping back to give me room. "On your back."
I kicked off my boots first, probably looking ridiculous hopping on one foot, but his eyes never left me. The intensity of his attention made even that simple act feel charged. When I crawled onto the bed, hyperaware of his gaze tracking every movement, I felt powerful and vulnerable simultaneously.
I settled against my pillows, trying to arrange myself in some way that looked sexy rather than awkward. Arms at my sides? Above my head? I started to cross them over my chest, sudden self-consciousness hitting, but his voice stopped me.
"Don't you dare hide from me." The words came out rough, almost angry, but I knew it wasn't directed at me. "You're beautiful. Perfect. Mine to look at."
Mine. There was that word again, possessive and certain. I forced my arms back to my sides, fighting the urge to cover myself. He watched me struggle with it, patient but unwavering.
"Good girl," he praised when I finally stilled. "So brave."
As a reward, or maybe just because he'd reached his own limit, he reached for the buttons of his shirt. My mouth went dry as herevealed himself inch by inch. I'd felt those muscles, had run my hands over them through fabric, but seeing was different.
He was a map of survival. Scars crossed his torso—some surgical, some clearly from combat. A puckered mark near his ribs that looked like a bullet wound. A long slash across his left pec that must have hurt like hell. But between the damage was strength. Muscle carved by discipline and purpose, skin bronzed by Colorado sun, tattoos that told stories I wanted to spend hours reading.
My gaze fell lower as he discarded the shirt, and my breath caught. He was already hard for me, his cock thick and long, pointing straight at me with intent. I'd felt him before through his jeans, had guessed at his size, but seeing was believing. He was big—big enough that I wondered how he'd fit, big enough that my mouth watered even as nerves fluttered in my belly.
"See something you like?" he teased, catching my stare.
"Everything," I admitted honestly. "I like everything. You're like a warrior statue. All dangerous beauty and controlled power."
Red crept up his neck at the description. "Lena—"
"What? You get to tell me I'm perfect. I get to return the favor." I grinned at his discomfort. "Deal with it, Soldier Boy."
"Brat," he muttered, but he was fighting a smile.
"Sweet talker." But he was pleased, I could tell by the way his eyes softened.
He moved to the bed with that lethal grace, all controlled power and careful intent. When he joined me, he didn't immediately touch. Instead, he hovered over me, weight on his forearms, caging me in without contact. The heat from his body washed over me, and I arched slightly, seeking connection.
"Patience," he murmured, still not touching. "Need to tell you something first."
I forced myself still, watching his face. This close, I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the way his pupils had blown wide with want.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said, voice steady despite the tension thrumming through him. "I'm going to touch you everywhere. Learn what makes you gasp, what makes you beg. Going to map every sensitive spot, every place that makes you shake."
My breath came faster just from his words, anticipation building to an almost painful level.
"And you're going to let me," he continued. "You're going to be good and take what I give you. No rushing, no demands. Just trust me to take care of you. Can you do that?"
"Yes," I breathed immediately. "Please, yes."
"There's my good girl," he praised, and finally, blessedly, lowered himself enough that our skin touched.
The first contact was electric. His chest pressed against mine, and I couldn't contain the sound that escaped—part relief, part need. He was so warm, all that solid muscle and scarred skin creating the perfect contrast to my softness. I felt his cock brush against my thigh and I gasped with need.
"Been thinking about this," he admitted against my throat, lips barely grazing. "How you'd feel. How you'd taste. Drove myself crazy imagining it."
"Reality better or worse?" I managed to ask.
"Better," he said immediately. "So much better. You're so soft, Lena. So perfect. And the sounds you make . . ." He nipped lightly at my pulse point, drawing another gasp. "Going to learn them all. Every single one."
His weight settled more fully, still careful not to crush me but enough that I felt surrounded, protected, claimed. One hand tangled in my hair while the other started its exploration, fingers trailing down my throat with reverent attention.
"Let me take care of you," he murmured against my skin, and it sounded like a vow. "Let me show you how you deserve to be touched."
