I let out a shaky breath. “Just… be gentle…”
He stares at me for a second as what I’m saying clicks. I’m not talking about sex, but how he looks at me. What he says.
“Darlin’, if you think there’s an inch of your body I won’t adore, you’re crazy.”
Without giving me another chance to think, he pulls my shirt over my head and drops it to the ground.
He bites his lip as he takes me in. “God, baby. You’re killing me. So fucking gorgeous.”
All the negative thoughts fall away, and I imagine my body naked beneath his. In that image, all I find is beauty. How beautiful my body splayed out for him would be.
He reaches for the button of my shorts, but I stop him with a hand to his chest. “Don’t I get to see the abs?”
He laughs and whips his shirt off, wiggling his pecs as he does.
He shudders when I run my hands down his chest, then he’s leaning in, lips pressed into the skin of my neck as his fingers curl in my hair.
A rough, agonized moan slips out of him, and I gasp in response.
I’ve never felt more needed.
He reaches for my shorts again, and this time, I don’t stop him.
“I can’t wait to feel every perfect inch of you. I… you’re so beautiful it’s hard to breathe. You are mine, and I am shamelessly obsessed with you. I can’t wait to see what your sinful body can do. I can’t wait to touch every delicious curve, to taste, tease, and torture you.”
“I want all of that,” I breathe, overwhelmed by his words. Him calling me his. How tortured his voice was. I never want to stop feeling like the object of his desire.
“Get on the bed,” he orders, slipping out of his shorts. “Right in the center. I want you splayed out and waiting for me.”
My core throbs at his words. I need him to touch me. Give mesomething.
He stands at the end of the bed, his dick at full mast in his boxers. His eyes roam over me, and he licks his lips hungrily.
I’ll do anything to be his next meal.
He climbs over the top of me, then easily removes my bra, groaning in delight at the sight of my breasts.
He firmly grabs one, bringing his mouth to it, sucking and biting at my nipple.
I arch into him, dragging my fingers down his back.
He roughly switches to my other breast before sitting back on his heels.
His smile turns feral as his eyes trail down my body, finding the lacy hipster underwear that can’t hide how turned on I am.
“Look at you,” he rumbles, dragging his finger over the wet fabric. “So needy.” His eyes find mine again. “Tell me what you want.”
My mind goes blank. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before. I must’ve really dated—and even hooked up with—some duds.
“I don’t—uh—I’m a little?—”
“What’s the matter, my sweet little romance author? I’ve read the filthy, filthy words you’ve written. Can’t you say them to me?”
“I don’t have much real-world experience. I’ve had hook ups and dated here and there, but never anyone who’s explicitly asked what I’ve wanted. We’ve always just done things. I voiced what I liked in the moment, but that’s all. And it’s always been very vanilla.”
“Mm. Looks like I’ve got something to add to the contract.”
Confusion ripples through me. “What?”
